


En Pointe

by TheKansasWinchester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2014-03-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 20:26:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 51,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1098250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheKansasWinchester/pseuds/TheKansasWinchester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twelve year old Dean Winchester loves ballet but when his mom is killed suddenly in a car accident, while on their way home from one such dance class, the flame of Dean’s passion is extinguished. Eighteen years later - now thirty and working at Singer’s Garage and Salvage Yard - his brother Sam enrolls Dean in a ballet class for Christmas. Reluctant at first, Dean agrees to go. There he meets Castiel Novak; a professional ballet dancer whose career was unexpectedly cut short when he fractured his foot and ankle because of a bad partner. </p><p>As their bond grows, through the dance they both love, Dean’s ambition is rekindled and Castiel begins to wonder whether he can trust again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First and foremost: I don't own any of the characters from SPN.  
> Second of all: This is for Emma (the Dean to my...well...Dean, I guess ^_^). It started off as the Christmas present I wanted to write and finish before Christmas but, obviously, that didn't happen and it's a WIP that'll continue over the next few months at least. Hope you like it, Deanie~  
> Third: -Prayer circle for my ability to actually write smut later-  
> Fourth: Everyone will have to excuse the fact that I know nothing, or close to nothing, about Ballet on the whole. Though I have been informed that boys DO use pointe work on occasion (thank you Pippa).
> 
> Other than that, I hope everyone enjoys it and remembers that, when Dean seems to be doing something ooc, this is an AU where long hair is a thing so anything is possible.
> 
> EDIT: It may be weekly updates (as I have the next 9 chapters finished already) because of university but once I'm completely done writing it, I will update twice a week.

"That's it, Dean, just a little higher," Mary smiled at her young son as he wobbled slightly, almost on the stuffed toes of his ballet pointe shoes. The hard, wooden floorboards didn't look at all appealing and Dean'd felt them more often than any other student in the class his mom ran at the local community hall in Lawrence, Kansas. Still, as he stepped lightly, trying to regain some control, Mary watched - she never tried to coddle him through the warm ups and warm downs, as she never did with the other kids. Her hands were soothing against the bumps and bruises he often sustained though; a fact that had Dean both recoiling from, and gravitating towards, them sometimes.

The white ballet shoes were starkly contrasted against his thick, black socks and dark tights but Dean liked it that way because it made sure Mary could pick him out from the rest in a second. He loved the adoration she often showed him in classes; how it didn’t make him feel out of place or like he didn't belong.

Needless to say, the fact that Dean even thought about ballet had unearthed all manner of worms within the dynamic of his family. At the age of twelve - his younger brother, Sam, being eight - Dean wanted to pursue it as a career. He loved to dance. It allowed the expression of feelings to flow from him more easily than anything else he'd ever experienced, even if the steps were highly regimented. John, his dad, however, took issue as to the fact and made it known frequently.

Dean often lost count of the amount of arguments his parents had in the kitchen, apparently away from prying ears and eyes, about the 'danger' of what ballet would turn him into. Not to say John wouldn't support both of his boys, and protect them with his life, but he'd been a Marine and war changed people; sometimes for the worse.

Pulling his tongue between his teeth, twelve year old Dean's brow furrowed and he could feel his calf muscles beginning to cramp. He was the only one who hadn't been able to stand en pointe yet, out of the whole contingent of almost a dozen kids. With his mom watching, her attention solely on him, it was more difficult because he didn't want to disappoint her but then, in Mary's eyes, Dean could never be anything but the biggest success for just trying his hardest.

"You're almost there, Dean," the soothing tone and utter pride written on her face had the boy catching his breath and it set him off-balance. A small, disappointed sound filled and echoed throughout the lofty hall as Dean returned to First Position before clenching his fists by his sides. He bit the inside of his cheek and ducked his head oddly away. Mary was right there, crouching before him and cupping his reddening face. Her eyes were empathetic, knowing she's had to go through the same embarrassment many times in her short career - the one she had before she fell pregnant with Dean.

In years to come the fact would haunt Dean but, as far as he was concerned, his mom was just the best teacher because she wanted to be, because she wanted him to do well; to be happy and confident.

Dean felt the gentle touch of a smooth thumb across his cheekbone and sighed, turning his face even further away. It had been somewhat of a defeat because he'd been so very close to achieving what he knew would make his mom smile wider than she did when she had to console him. "I can't do it, Mom, I suck..." One of his hands rose to pull roughly through his short hair and Dean could feel the hot tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. The simple threat of them was enough; he hated to show negative emotions in front of Mary.

A gentle shake of her head later and Mary's arms were around her son, holding him firmly. "You don't suck at anything, Dean. Being good at something doesn't come overnight. Practice makes perfect." Whether she knew it or not, Dean took a lot of confidence from those words and hated them at the same time. How many thousands of other kids had been told the same thing? How many thousands of hours, millions even, had been spent practicing, to no avail? Maybe he wasn't cut out to follow his mom's footsteps. It was as if his body language said everything he was feeling, loud and clear, because Mary rose to her feet and ruffled his hair. "We should get pie from the store on the way home."

The boy nodded his head, more than a little sadly (and angrily, with himself), before shuffling off to the side of the hall to change. Usually, Dean treated his attire with great care; untying the smooth ribbons of his pumps and tucking them gently inside the shoes themselves. However, that day, after that performance, Dean threw them into his bag, along with the stupid tights and socks and pulled on the pair of old jeans he still fitted into - despite them being a couple of years old. Pulling on the boots John insisted on him having, and a red plaid shirt over the white tank top, Dean hauled the backpack onto one shoulder and skulked towards the exit. Mary joined him; her hand going around his shoulders as she leaned to plant a soft kiss to the crown of his head.

Looking out of the window as Mary drove the short way from the hall to the store, Dean wondered if he would ever be able to master standing en pointe. Granted he'd only joined his mom's class because she took him along once and he sort of liked the look of one of the girls. That was two years ago. Whether he was a slow learner or not Dean didn't know but - clearly - he was behind the others for a good reason.

"Cheer up, honey, you did really great today." Mary's words seemed to just push Dean further into himself as he leaned his forehead against the window of the passenger side door. His breath, coming out in deep huffs, fogged up the glass and he chanced to trail a heavy, disappointed finger through the cloud; the sadness evident in the action. "Dean," his name, this time, was sterner and the boy vaguely turned to listen. "I'm proud of you, whether you can do what the other kids can or not. You're my son and I love you, okay?"

"'Kay." Dean replied, after a few moments of silence. He was quite put out by how forceful his mom had been with those words. Normally, her encouragement was soft, like a coo; nothing like that. The harsher tones were reserved, almost exclusively, for John.

As they pulled up to the store, Mary shut off the engine and turned to her son. "Do you wanna come in with me?" The question was one that Dean usually answered, most definitely, yes, but this time, he declined with a simple shake of his head. Ruffling the short hairs - which, inside, Mary had taken an immediate disliking to - she climbed out and shut the door. Dean leaned and pushed the locking bolt down.

It felt like an age that his mom was gone and Dean had enough time to stew in his failure. He'd genuinely felt like he was really close but the last hurdle was proving to be more than a little problematic. No matter how hard he tried, it seemed like standing en pointe would remain just outside of his grasp, for a while longer at least. So caught up in his own thoughts, Dean barely noticed his mom standing by the driver's side, knocking on the window, until she'd basically cracked the glass; at which point the weather had turned sour and rain was driving down, through the clouds, like nothing Dean'd ever seen in his life.

Quickly leaning to pull up the bolt, Dean felt so guilty. When he got lost in his own world, he really got lost. Most of the thoughts were positive but he tended to dwell more on the tiny failures, nurturing them into ugly creatures that frightened him at night. The door opened hurriedly and Mary climbed in, closing it behind her.

The bag of groceries had basically turned to mush and Mary's hair was plastered to her face and neck; and dripping. She looked across at Dean, who didn't meet her gaze. To be truthful, she'd had much worse experiences and the thing that worried her the most was how her son was acting after his small hiccup. Dean'd had tantrums in the past, heck they lasted for days, but he was always vocal about it; never introverted like he'd suddenly become. Obviously it was something more personal this time, something only he could deal with and in his own time.

"You wanna look after these for me?" Mary passed the sopping wet bag to her son and Dean took it without complaint, spying the pie on the top. It looked really good and he couldn't help smiling, knowing she'd probably put it there so he'd see it first. Of course, there were vegetables beneath it but Dean wasn't a particularly big fan of greens and Mary found, more often than not, that it was easier to ply her older boy with dessert.

With rain pelting down on the windshield, Mary turned on the wipers and squinted through the haze. They were late for picking up Sammy from Jess' house and John would be expecting at least some semblance of a meal when he got home from The Roadhouse, so there wasn't time to waste. Storm or no storm, they had to get out of the parking lot and home. Revving the car into life and pressing on the heater, shifting the fans across towards Dean, Mary allowed for the windshield to clear and then they were off.

To say the trip was scary was an understatement. Dean was gripping the bag with white knuckles by the time they were halfway home. Mary tried to distract him by pointing things out; small things like the dragon on Missouri Moseley's front porch and the big puddle they were about to go through. Several times, the water came up and splashed on the window, making Dean recoil slightly like he was going to get wet.

They were going through one such puddle - Dean's face had relaxed into a smile as the droplets hit the side of the car - when the accident happened.

Whether it was fate or pure coincidence, Dean didn't know. He'd never know. All at once, headlights were barreling towards them and nothing could stop them. As if frozen in place, Mary couldn't turn the wheel to dodge the on-coming driver. She could see the action in her mind but making it happen was a different thing, entirely. Vaguely, Dean could hear his mom's voice telling him something but the sound never reached the drums of his ears because his heartbeat filled them so entirely in the seconds before the head-on collision.

Darkness. Silence. Fear.

How was it possible to survive something like that? Dean would spend the rest of his life asking himself that very same question but, right then, as the car rolled, his vision blurring, passing in and out of consciousness, the Winchester boy couldn't fathom either of them getting out alive. He was going to die in the car, with his mom, his ballet shoes and a grocery-bought apple pie. At twelve years old, that seemed like a complete waste of a good life. And so Dean determined as the car landed, the roof crunching in above them as it hit the road, that he would survive. He would fight.

Sprinklings of smashed glass clung to every part of the car's interior when it finally stopped rocking. The water - that the windows had so gallantly kept out before - seeped in and Dean's clothes absorbed it until they were sodden.

The boy whimpered, pathetic really, and tried to brace himself against the roof of the vehicle. Aside from being incredibly shaken and disorientated at being upside down, Dean felt fine. He couldn't feel much of his body, and that scared him, but he was also trembling all over; the loss of motor skills could be explained away quite easily. His pie was scattered into pieces and the rest of the groceries were all but ruined, splayed out into the middle of the road. Strangely enough, they were the first things that came to Dean's mind.

"Mom?" Dean's small voice stabbed at the silence with no intent but it became harsher when no reply came back. "Mom!?" He tried to move but the seat belt prevented it and Dean struggled, tears flowing unchecked from his eyes suddenly. Maybe it was the positioning and the situation he'd found himself in that caused such emotional stress. A second ago, he hadn't been crying at all.

Mary was still beside him but she looked different as her eyes stared, wide, out, towards her son. They were lifeless, simply staring like they'd never actually been alive and seeing at all. Rivulets of blood slid callously down from her soft, blonde waves of hair and bleached out trails across the skin of her cheeks. Dean'd never seen anything so oddly disturbing in his life - and never would again. He only struggled harder, calling out for his mom over and over until his lungs burned with the anguished ache of failure.

Hours later, or what seemed like hours, Dean woke up in Lawrence Memorial Hospital. He wasn't sure, initially, where he was or how he got there but John was standing at the foot of his bed with Sam - who held the bag containing Dean's ballet pumps, socks and tights. He never wanted to see them again but, at the same time, wanted to have them close. The stern gaze he received from his dad had Dean going slightly rigid. It was obvious that John had never supported the idea of his son doing ballet but now, the look on his face hurt Dean in ways his dad would never know.

"You happy now?" The words slipped out with the venom no child should ever have to hear from their parent. Heavy bags hung beneath John's eyes; the obvious signs he'd been crying for some hours, and Dean turned his face away slightly in shame. How was he fine when his mom had been so very broken? Utterly destroyed really.

Dean gave a weak shake of his head as hot tears pricked behind his eyes. "I didn't mean it. Another car just came out of nowhere and, I just-" The boy pawed at his face but winced at the touch, feeling several stitches holding at one cheek. In a strange way, it made him feel better to know he wasn't completely unscathed.

"Because of you and your ballet, your mom's dead." The statement was blunt and Sam even winced, a little noise escaping from the back of his throat. Obviously John'd already broken the news to him. "There's no 'I just' about it, Dean. If you didn't wanna do this stupid dancing so much, your mom would be alive." Though it seemed harsh, the way John's voice cracked hurt Dean so much more than the words themselves. He'd looked up to his dad for his whole life; listened to stories from his days as a Marine. Dean knew what it meant when men like his dad cried. "I'll call Bobby to come pick you boys up."

With that, he let his hold on Sam's shoulders slip and almost seemed to float out of the room. His steps were so heavy that they almost made no sound at all; as juxtaposing as that was in Dean's mind.

"Dean? You okay?" Sam's high voice and wide eyes, both full of concern, pushed up in the older Winchester's vision and Dean felt his brother lay a hand a top his own. Sam was incredibly mature and caring for his age and Dean only came to appreciate it now that it was probably the only affection he would receive for the foreseeable future. Nodding sadly to his brother's question, Dean gulped back the sob before Sam's smaller body was pressed right against him in a tight hug. It was awkward, with the positioning, but the comfort it afforded them both went unchallenged - and would go unrivaled throughout the rest of Dean's life.

A while later, Bobby arrived, cap in hand. His eyes were much the same as John's had been and the gravity of the situation seemed to sink in all-the-more. Seeing the two boys he considered sons, huddled against one another - Dean looking so strong with his arm around his younger brother - almost broke Bobby but he cleared his throat and shuffled up to Dean's bedside. "How you doin', boy?" A gentle hand moved to stroke the hair from Dean's forehead and the boy clenched his jaw around a sob. "No matter what anybody tells ya, none'a this is your fault."

Believing that was difficult but Dean would let everyone imagine he understood. Underneath, he'd always blame himself. Even at twelve years old, he knew, even if it wasn't a conscious decision.

Nodding, pressing lightly into Bobby's soothing touch, Dean's eyes were dull. He was so clearly suffering something deeper than anyone could see on the surface because his green orbs had never been so dull. "Nurse says I can take ya home," Bobby spoke up again and, this time, Dean recoiled minutely. The older man's brow creased and he scrunched his cap in his free hand. "You're comin' back with me, boy. Ain't gunna leave you at home with your daddy right now. Who knows what he'll do..."

Easing Sam off of his brother, Bobby - as worked as his body had become over the years - tenderly leaned down and scooped the older boy up, cradling him against his shoulder. Dean's legs hung, somewhat lame for a moment, before he wrapped them as far as they would go around Bobby's waist and wound his thin arms around the man's neck and shoulders; holding so tight. Putting his cap on Sam's head, his hair flowing out from either side - as it was quite unruly - the mechanic supported Dean at his hip and guided the younger Winchester brother, by the shoulder, out of the hospital.

In the parking lot, Dean didn't want to let go of Bobby as he tried to load them both into his truck. A desperate scrambling ensued when it seemed as though Bobby was going to abandon him and Dean whimpered into his neck; the skin on his boney knuckles had turned pure white with force of clutching the material of the older man's coat.

"It's okay, Dean, we're not gunna leave you." Sam's voice was the small one to break Dean out of his mild hysteria and he bit the inside of his cheek before relinquishing his vice-grip on Bobby's waist. "C'mon, Dean. I'm right here," leaning across from the passenger side of the long seat in the front of Bobby's truck, Sam extended a hand to his brother and smiled lightly, encouraging him.

Several attempts later and Dean was propped up, snuggly, between Bobby and Sam, leaning his head onto his younger brother's shoulder while his eyes just bore straight into the dash of the truck. He was honestly surprised they'd managed to coax him into another car so soon. But that was Sam and Bobby all over; able to get Dean to do things that would otherwise probably be impossible. As the engine roared into life, Dean flinched and his hand reflexively grasped for Sam's - which the younger boy provided all too readily. The bag of Dean's ballet attire sat on the floor of the cab. Dean couldn't even look at it.

The drive seemed to take an age and, to Dean it felt even longer; like a lifetime. Everything had changed in such a short space of time and nothing had really begun to sink in properly. Mary was dead. John probably didn't want to see his oldest son for a while and Sam and Bobby were stuck in the middle, mediating. Somewhere down the road, probably on one of the rare, smoother roads of Lawrence, Dean fell asleep against his brother. His eyes were just so heavy and nobody had noticed he'd nodded off until it came to moving him.

"Hey, kiddo," Dean heard the voice somewhere in his peripherals but paid it no heed as he nestled further against what he remembered to be Sam, last time he'd checked. "Dean?" A hand pressed gently to his shoulder and shook him awake. Dean's eyes opened and he rubbed at his face, once again forgetting about the stitches. He winced and sighed as Bobby's arms were open to him, expectant.

Dean sat for a moment before moving, giving the man a look that told him he wanted to try on his own. Bobby'd seen that look plenty of times in the past, especially when the boys had been dropped at his after a row between their parents, and Dean had danced his anger out. Not much chance of that happening anymore...

Scooting out of the cab, Sam went around to the driver's side and threw an arm loosely over his brother's shoulder. They didn't say anything as Bobby locked the truck and joined them on the porch before opening the door and letting the three of them into the dwelling Dean and Sam would come to call 'home'.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slightly early update this week because my inspiration (Emma) isn't feeling so great! Get better soon, bro~

A week later was Mary's funeral. Bobby, who still had the boys, took them along in shabbily fitting suits. Dean's face was still bruised, especially around his eyes, and Sam's hair was finally cut - into the shape of a bowl. The sleeves of the suits fell far below their wrists and Dean couldn't help himself when he rolled up his brother's cuffs. He'd never felt more like a parent in his life.

In the days since Mary's death, Dean hadn't spoken much. He hadn't eaten or drank much, either, and that worried Bobby to no end. Of course, John hadn't been part of their lives after the accident because it was just too painful to look into his son's face and see his wife. It was too soon.

The service was pretty small and John stayed at the back of the church, despite the protocol of a usual funeral. A handful of people attended; Missouri, Bobby and the boys (obviously), John and a women with her young daughter. Dean had no idea who they were, having not seen them before, but he barely paid attention to anyone throughout the whole day - aside from Sam. He looked after his little brother as he cried against his shoulder in the middle of the vicar reading from the Bible. Mary hadn't even been too religious so the reasoning for such a thing confused Dean a little. But he guessed that was just the way these things went.

After all the hymns had been sung and the prayers said, Bobby led them out, behind the coffin, as it was loaded into the hearse and followed in his truck to the cemetery. John didn't join them and neither did the woman and her daughter. Dean found this oddly comforting because, then, he wouldn't be scrutinized or glared at for apparently causing this tragedy. 

The feeling of watching a pine box - containing his mom's fair hair and beautiful face; never to be seen again - being lowered into the ground had his gut tightening and Dean felt like he was going to be sick. The ground would be cold and unwelcoming; everything Mary wasn't, but there wasn't a single thing he could do to rescue her, to make good his mistake. Thankfully at least the weather had decided to be kind for the day.

"It'll be alright, honey," Missouri's sombre tones soothed him a little but Dean couldn't help wanting to shrug her tender hand from his shoulder. He didn't need her coddling him through this. It was his fault that Mary was dead in the first place and everyone should just accept that and move on. "There was nothing you could've done to stop this, Dean."  
The boy simply nodded to appease her, knowing full-well if he hadn't wanted to learn how to dance so much then this would all be some horrible nightmare that he'd have to wake from, eventually.

In the aftermath of the burial, Bobby took the boys back to his house and cooked them dinner.

"Dean," the older man called up the stairs towards the room he'd cleared for them, "get your butt down here, boy, dinner's not gunna stay warm forever y'know." Despite the situation, and the day, Bobby's tone was still as biting as usual. He didn't want either of the boys thinking he was as broken up by the loss of Mary as he actually was. It'd certainly taken its toll on him as much as it had on John.

He moved back into the kitchen, wiping his hands on the dishcloth, and watched Sam eating before grabbing a beer from the fridge and twisting off the cap; which he flicked onto the counter. Taking a swig, he leaned and clutched the dirty worktop. "Where the hell is that boy?" He murmured to himself before pushing away and making to call for Dean again.

"It's okay, I'll get him." Sam slipped from his chair silently and, with his head hung low between his shoulders, made quick work of the stairs up to their room. He tried the knob but the door was locked. "Dean?" He cooed, concern written in every letter of his brother's name. The sound was gentle and he heard footsteps coming close to the other side of the battered, wooden panel.

"Yeah?" Dean answered. Even out of the sight of everyone, he stayed with his face ducked like he was ashamed to still be breathing when someone so wonderful wasn't. The boy shifted his weight and sniffed before clearing his throat and sending out a more pronounced response.

Sam pressed his hand to the door and jiggled the knob with the other. "The door's stuck and Bobby says dinner time. It's Alphabetti Spaghetti. I made sure you got some of the letters you could use to spell out cool words." Of course something so sweet would only be thought of by his brother in such a moment and Dean had to clap a hand over his mouth to stifle a sob. He wanted to be strong for Sam.

A moment passed between them in silence before the younger Winchester instinctively made his way back downstairs, calling to Bobby that Dean was on his way.  
Unlocking the door, with a little difficulty, Dean peered out onto the landing. He took his time - tentative - as though any sound might have him jumping from his very skin, before stepping out of the safe vacuum he and Sam had created. It wasn't a nice feeling and, suddenly, he longed to be back in the house where he grew up; the room where he was born. Not to say Bobby's home wasn't nice but the fact that there wasn't a single carpet in the place reminded Dean horribly of the community hall. Maybe he'd slip and fall in the bare boards? Who would be there to help him then?

He ran a hand across the vertical bars of the banister as he neared the top of the stairs. They were chipped and dented against his smoother skin. Would it be so bad to throw himself down? A pretty dark thought for a twelve year old, admittedly, but Dean couldn't see himself ever escaping the guilt. Halfway to stepping out, recklessly, the boy took hold of the railing and caught himself. An action like that would probably kill Bobby and destroy Sam; no, he needed to build up a resistance.

From this vantage point, Dean could vaguely see his brother sat at the kitchen table, kicking his legs back and forth. The simple idea that something like that, probably something subconsciously done, could bring so much joy was just absurd but Dean smiled at it. For the first time in almost eight whole days, Dean smiled.

It almost hurt his face because his dimples were showing, as they often did when Sam was involved, but he just couldn't lessen the expression any as he slunk down the stairs like a zombie - a complete contradiction unto himself.

"Hey Dean," Sam's face lit up a little as his brother entered the room. Half a slice of bread filled his cheeks as he spoke and Dean couldn't help shaking his head with amusement. It was so like Sammy to do something like that to cheer him up. "What's so funny?" The innocence of his tone almost had Dean laughing for the first time since Mary died. But not quite. Laughing was something reserved for occasions now and, although the squirrel-cheek look was hilarious, it didn't warrant that strong of a reaction. Especially not when Dean was honestly feeling like something was constantly eating him up inside, riddling him with guilt.

As often as people could say it wasn't his fault, or that he couldn't have done anything to change what happened, the older Winchester knew it would never get through to him - he'd never allow it to get through. To a twelve year old, the thinking behind the reasoning was obvious; none of the people who'd told him those things - Bobby, Missouri, Sam - had ever seen their mom shattered and bleeding as he had. Or so he assumed.

Picking up his plate, as well as a spoon, from the countertop, Dean shuffled over to the table and pulled the chair out to sit beside his brother. Sam tore a piece of bread in half and dipped it defiantly into Dean's Alphabetti Spaghetti as soon as it was within reach.

"Son of a-" Dean muttered, his brow creasing in mock annoyance. Sam only laughed and popped the food into his mouth, uncaring as to the retaliation he would definitely receive when he wasn't expecting it. Hopping onto the chair, Dean leaned over the bowl and pushed the squishy letters about in the tomato soup for a short while before bringing a spoonful of them to his mouth. Sam leaned over and blew on them; something that Dean usually did for him.

The behaviour was odd and Dean looked at his brother like he had three heads or something. So yeah, there was concern but Dean knew how to take care of himself and make sure he didn't burn his tongue. He'd learnt that the hard way from Bobby's cooking over the years.

Sam seemed to shrink away at the look his brother shot towards him, which had the older Winchester immediately regretting his action.

"I just figured you've had a pretty hard week and I wanted to make it a little easier." Ducking his face away, and shifting a bit in his chair, Sam went back to quietly eating his dinner. Needless to say, Dean felt terrible. He hated it when Sam wasn't himself; when he acted like anything he did wouldn't be good enough, or necessary, or would let Dean down. Because if Sam wasn't himself, then Dean wasn't either.

Instead of verbally apologising, Dean simply ruffled his brother's hair and they ate the rest of their meals in silence.

After dinner came washing the dishes.

Bobby liked to keep the boys busy, keep their minds from drifting into idleness. That was the worst place they could be, following such a huge event in their lives. He had Dean vacuuming and dusting the house every day and Sam had to re-arrange the numerous books into alphabetical order. He could've sworn that Bobby moved them back every night after he went to bed though.

See, Sam was the one with the mind that could take him places. John'd always valued him more, or so it seemed to most people outside of the family - Dean sometimes wondered whether he cared about either of them, or Mary - and it was no secret that they both had college funds; only Sam's was probably bigger because he could easily do things like Math, where Dean struggled.

Standing at either side of Bobby, who was actually washing the dishes themselves, Sam was passing them and Dean was drying them. Pushing his empty bowl towards the older man, Sam's face was down turned. The look his brother had given him before was still so strong in his mind and, for some reason, he couldn't shake it. Absentmindedly, the younger boy shifted Dean's dirty bowl towards Bobby. It immediately came back to him and he looked up. Surely he couldn't have disappointed Bobby as well?

"I think Dean's tryin' to tell you somethin'," Bobby's tone was lighter than it usually was, a little more intimate, as he tilted the bowl towards Sam. Inside, the remaining spaghetti letters spelled out, rather sloppily; 'M SORRI SAM'. "Obviously he ate the 'Y' on accident but y'know what he means."

Peering around Bobby's more-than-round stomach, Sam tried to catch his brother's eyes but Dean was avoiding all kind of contact; choosing instead to worry the dishcloth between his hands. That was something for Sam to see, and Sam alone, and there was a strange feeling pitting in the older boy's gut at the fact that Bobby had been witness to it.

When the dishes were done, Dean folded the cloth - he never did that - and made his way back up to their room; where he stayed for the rest of the evening.

In the silence, and the growing darkness, the Winchester boy thought back to the accident. It was blurry in his mind but he could clearly remember the sensation of weightlessness before the car rolled onto its roof and hit the ground. That was the feeling he'd always been seeking with his dancing - weightlessness, like he was flying. But then came the falling, the crunching, the odd, simultaneous shattering of bones and glass, and Dean curled his legs closer to his chest before muffling his small sob with the corner of the comforter.

Before Mary died, Dean would've spent times like these dancing out the emotions that John always tried to make sure he never showed. As much as he wanted to throw off the blanket and fish out the flats from the bag under his bed, Dean didn't move. It wouldn't be right now, would it? To wear them? To dance? To try to be less upset?

From across the room, the door opened and a stream of light filled the darkness as Sam's tired form staggered to his bed. He faceplanted and groaned in his high voice but it sounded so very, very tired. Dean turned over, subtly pawing at his face in case any tears had fallen without his knowledge, and sat up. The door was still wide open and Sam was practically asleep, face down; his legs hanging off the mattress.

Sighing, with a slight amusement, Dean slipped out of bed and carefully undressed his brother before haphazardly shifting him under the comforter and moving to close the door. The only problem he found, when he turned around, was that the darkness in the room was far more advanced than it had been before and there were all kinds of obstacles between his current position and his own bed. For a moment, he considered bunking in with Sam to save the possibility of stubbing his toes, but then he shook his head.

No.

There really wasn't enough room in the small, single cots so, whether he liked it or not, Dean had to deal. The first few steps were successful and that made Dean somewhat confident that nothing else stood in his path but Winchester bad luck prevailed a moment later when he caught the little toe on his right foot against the dresser.

"Son of a b-" His curse wasn't exactly quiet and Sam shifted, sighing as he nuzzled his face further into the pillow. It was somewhat surprising though, how the dull throb didn't last half as long as he remembered it used to. Clearly all the use had been towards some good.

Creeping, actually physically hunching his back, to sneak, Dean crawled back into bed and cradled his damaged foot, rubbing the toes between his palms. It felt good to feel the slightly hardened skin again, even after only a week, and the pull of dancing was the strongest it'd been since the accident.

The following morning, Dean was up early and had finished his chores for the day by the time Sam was opening his eyes. The younger Winchester wormed his way out of the virtual burrito he'd managed to roll himself into during the night, and watched his brother move around the room with a hard squint. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, pushing the blanket down to his waist.

"What time is it?" Sam asked, his voice was sleep riddled and gave a glimpse of what he could sound like in years to come. Dean glanced up from kneeling to reach for his bag beneath his own bed, and grinned. His eyes were shining, even in the gloom of the early morning darkness.

"Almost seven." Dean replied, before his eyes slipped to the backpack he'd pulled towards him. His hands lightly shook and his stomach almost pitched itself into his mouth as, with trembling fingers, Dean slowly unzipped the front pocket and reached inside. Familiar material brushed across his skin and, carefully, the boy fished out his white ballet shoes. They looked exactly the same as they had when he'd taken them off - on the day of the accident - and it was more than a little unnerving.

"You gunna dance?" There was an excitement in his brother's tone that spread easily enough to Dean and, without looking up, he nodded. Sam scrambled out from beneath the comforter and sat, cross-legged, at the end of his small cot. Watching Dean dance had been soothing to him, probably as much as it was to Dean when he was moving, and Sam needed something familiar now more than ever. "Can I watch?"

Having already fitted his bare foot into one pointe shoe, Dean hummed his acquiescence and went on tying until both pumps were in place and secure. It felt weird to wear them again but something clicked in Dean and he felt more at home than he had in a while. Standing and looking down at himself, the baggy shorts and skinniness were strangely foreign - especially around his knees as they were usually a uniform black. Nevertheless, Dean put his hands to his hips and took a deep breath before starting to stretch. 

Just stretching, not even dancing any, had Dean relaxing and he invited Sam to join him; which he did. Together, they warmed up and shook out the tensions of their lives. Sam couldn't help smiling at his brother, quite breathless, as they sat on the floor opposite one another - their legs spread and feet touching.

"Feels good, huh, Sammy." With flushed cheeks, Dean smiled and the brothers stood together before dusting themselves down. Their room was the one he hadn't cleaned because Bobby'd never told him to. Dean supposed that might've been because it had a homely feel to it and a spring clean everyday would probably ruin that somewhat. Once his shorts were relatively dust-free, the older Winchester moved to stand in the middle of the room and assumed First Position.

Sam's gaze was intense on his brother, how his body moved and Dean couldn't stop feeling the urge to break out in a boyish smirk. Instead, he simply shook his head lightly and carried on, to Second Position - paying no heed to the eyes on him. After running through the regimented stances a dozen times, which seemed to take forever now, Dean started to recount the last routine Mary had been teaching them in class.

His arms were fluid and his eyes followed the line easily, a serenity in his green orbs. Taut muscles in his thighs splayed and contracted with the more complicated movements and Dean felt like he could possibly achieve standing en pointe with Sam watching him. With Mary there, he always felt too much pressure to get it exactly right on his first try and, when he hadn't the reluctance to try again was rife.

Now though, he felt relaxed enough and it would be simple. Just push up and he'd be there. With all the confidence in the world, Dean tried.

Without a barre to hold, Dean couldn't sustain his weight - even though he didn't even make it to the very tips of his toes - and he overbalanced straight into the dresser a little way in front of him. A nosebleed wasn't something he needed to explain away to Bobby but he knew he'd have to the second his face collided with the old wood.

Here was his proof. He would always be a failure.

Sam was right at his side, much as Mary had been when he'd failed before. "I'll get some peas," was all he caught, in his slightly 'deer-on-ice' state and then he was alone again; left to stew. Tilting his head forward, Dean couldn't keep the tears breaking from his eyes. Hot trails burned from his peripheral vision and the coppery taste of blood enveloped his mouth.

Hunching over then, wanting to shield his face, his emotions, from Bobby - who came with Sam this time to inspect the scene - and his brother, Dean sniffed and swallowed. The blood was warm and thick. An odd and horrible combination.

"Put your head more forward, boy," Bobby's voice was almost commanding him to take notice and Dean did what he was told only to see worry written behind Bobby's eyes. How perceptive he was wouldn't have mattered, either way, in this instance. The evidence was clear as day, written into the older man's features like veins in a leaf, like folds in a rumpled bed sheet.

Dean watched as he took the peas from Sam and wrapped them in the dishcloth he had in his back pocket. It smelt slightly but it wasn't like the older Winchester boy could actually breathe through his nose right then. As Bobby pressed the cold cloth to his face, Dean winced and tried to pull away but the movement only made him feel more nauseous. So he gave in and let the icy cold pack stem the flow of blood.

When he was finally ready to stand up, Sam helped him; not Bobby. His younger brother supported him to the edge of his own bed and sat him down, bringing the cloth away from his nose to inspect it. "Should be okay, it looks like it's stopped for now." The examination felt too personal and Dean shied away, turning his gaze to nowhere in particular, just a spot across the room where the evidence of crimson dried into the old floorboards.

Truth be told, he felt like an idiot for believing he could be a great ballet dancer without Mary's help. The first attempt had been a total disaster, clearly.

Before he realised time'd passed - quite lost in his own hazy world - Sam had removed his pointe shoes and was tucking the ribbons into them carefully. Dean reached out a hand, wanting to hold them, but his brother simply folded them together and left them in plain sight on the dresser. A gentle hand on his shoulder had Dean laying down and then he was curled up in the blankets faster than Sam or Bobby could speak.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lateness but things've been so hectic recently and I just haven't gotten around to updating! Hope everyone's enjoying it so far~

They'd say it was for 'the greater good' in years to come but it would take just that - years - for Dean to forgive. Whether it was foresight or not, twelve year old Dean Winchester would learn, very quickly, what it felt like to harbour a grudge.

Dean woke up with a headache after his fall. It was dark outside, aside from a small, orange glow from the window and the faint sound of crackling. Through the single glazed window in the room, Dean could smell smoke.

A fire.

Instinctively, Dean's gaze moved across the room to the dresser. His pointe shoes were missing.

Maybe Sam had put them back? Or maybe he'd never put them there in the first place?

Sitting up, a little too quickly, Dean's head throbbed and the nosebleed felt like it might restart as he hauled himself out of bed. Padding lightly to the window, the boy pulled aside the thin, moth-eaten curtains and pressed his nose to the dirty glass.

Below, in the back yard, a large pyre of flames rose higher than Bobby, who stood beside them. More than anything though, Dean was surprised to see John standing across from him. Both sets of eyes were so intense on the flickering reds and yellows that neither noticed Dean's obvious presence above.

What they were burning, he had no clue but the very fact that the shoes were missing had Dean's gut tightening and he had the sudden, and overwhelming, urge to have them in his hands. To have that connection to Mary within his grasp; palpable.

It was that uneasy feeling that forced Dean out of the room, down the stairs and out into the yard. His movements were sluggish and lazy, to be expected of a boy recovering from a probable concussion, but the fact that Bobby turned and winced didn't go amiss.

"Uncle Bobby, where-" It was the first time Dean'd called him 'Uncle' since Mary's death and the words felt foreign when mixed with the look on the man's face. Dean's attention drew between the two, who stood around the fire, as he stopped and wavered a little. "Where're my-"

"You look like you hurt yourself pretty bad," John's drawl was almost masked by the crackling and snapping wood but his son made out the words through the haze of thin smoke and heat. "How'd you do it?"

Instinctively, Dean straightened his back and let his head fall a little forward as he spoke back to his dad. "I was practicing." The stance was submissive; the tone defiant.

"So these things did that to you, huh? Messed up your face like that?" From the back pocket of his jeans, John produced the pointe shoes and separated them from one another. Dean felt the space grow between himself and Mary while he watched because he could guess what was coming next. He could almost see it. John's expression was a sad half smile before he let his gaze slip to Dean's face. "You've got your looks for a reason, Dean. Without those, you're not going too far in this world. Your grades were half the reason your mom and me argued so much. She thought you could get better if you practiced Math or Science. But that's not how your life's gunna be, Dean. That's Sam's life."

"Now you listen here, boy-" Bobby pulled no punches as he clenched his fist by his side. It was odd, to Dean, to see the two of them arguing so passively. Usually there would've been some kind of physical contact by this point. "What the hell gives you the right to talk to him like that? He's a KID for cryin' out loud! He can be whatever the hell he wants, DO whatever the hell he wants! Just 'cause you ended up workin' for me, gettin' your hands dirty for people who don't appreciate it, doesn't mean he will too."

In the dim light, Dean couldn't see it but Bobby's face was growing in colour. The fierceness of his words and gruff voice sent a swell of pride through the boy and Dean smiled.

"You think this is funny, Dean?" The glare he got from John, with the words, wiped the look clean from his face. "And Bobby, I'm not sure you realise just how important working a dead-end job is. Yeah, the customers might be unappreciative but it put Mary through ballet classes and kept a roof over our heads when she was pregnant with Dean and his brother. I just-I don't want his future to be uncertain. He needs stability and a routine, not to be in work and then out of it just as quickly. What kind of life is it to have to worry about where your next meal's gunna come from, huh?"

As much as neither Dean or Bobby wanted to admit it, John was right. So right; it almost hurt to think about. Dancing was a very uncertain career choice, much like acting, and it was also a very short-lived path too. Once bones were broken or muscles torn or tendons pulled, things were over. Sure, people could probably recover but their bodies wouldn't be as they were before.

Still, the simple movement of John's hand towards the flames had Dean almost bolting towards him and the intense heat, a half cry breaking from his throat. Bobby caught the boy around the middle and held him tight as the white of the pointe shoes turned an odd, tinged brown before they were consumed into the flotsam. Dean's yells pierced straight through the clear night air and Sam came running from the house, worry written in every smooth line of his young face.

"WHY?!" Dean screamed, his voice breaking, as he struggled against Bobby's arms. He squirmed and tears involuntarily slid from his green eyes. John was just silent, staring into the flames. "DAD! WHY?!" The boy continued, fighting for his freedom from Bobby's hold. "Y'know what? Screw you, you son of a bitch. I don't need them. I'll work my toes to the bone before I stop dancing. You'll see, you asshole!"

Finally pushing his way free, the oldest Winchester boy wiped angrily at the tears that'd betrayed him by falling. It was the first time he'd ever ventured to speak to John like that and, hell, it felt good but seeing Sam there made Dean feel the weight of his actions tenfold. He'd sworn in front of his brother; something he tried not to do. He'd promised Mary he'd keep a clean mouth when Sam could hear. Stalking back towards the house, Sam's hand came out to comfort him but Dean shrugged it off.

"De-" Sam started but let the word stall when his brother snubbed him. Clearly it was a turning point in both of their lives.

In the days that followed, things were tense. Dean blamed Bobby for letting John burn the shoes, blamed him for holding him back, but the logic was there. Better to be without a pair of pointe shoes that nursing third degree burns. The greater good, Dean supposed, was the excuse for his dad's actions but it didn't relieve the sting of knowing the objects that'd kept him closest to his mom were gone forever.

Every night that week, Bobby relit the fire, burning more and more rotting things and, every night, Dean helped him, standing where John had as he governed the burning objects. Bobby watched him closer than he watched the fire and Dean could always feel the weight of the older man's eyes from across the pit of heat. However hot it got though, Dean's gaze never broke further than the outer rims of the flickering mass. Most of the time, his green eyes were fixed upon the very core of the inferno, wondering how hot it was, whether he'd live long enough to know he was actually burning.

With a little gasoline, poured on by Bobby to help with the ferocity of the thing, the fire grew and consumed faster. It almost roared and the spectacle was something that forced Dean to step back. Oddly enough, when the ends of the flames vanished into the night sky, high above, they almost looked like Mary dancing before him. Whether Dean was the only one to see her would always remain a mystery because he'd never admit something like that to Bobby.

The possibility had Dean leaning forward, almost stepping into the flames. His body was doing something beyond his control, enraptured by the visage of Mary. Bobby's lips were moving but the sound wasn't his voice.

It was younger, somewhat deeper, and definitely not as gruff.

Dean twitched away from it but it persisted.

Then came the touch to his shoulder, shaking him gently, considerately, as well as the voice calling to him.

"Hey, Dean, c'mon, this isn't funny anymore. Joke's over. Dean!" Twenty six year old Sam grasped his brother by the shoulder he could reach - being that Dean was laying on his side, on the floor or their room at Bobby's - and shook him a little more forcefully. "Dean?"

"Mmm-mom?" The older Winchester - now thirty - slurred as he scrunched up his face and blinked his eyes open, simultaneously. It didn't take a rocket scientist to tell Dean that, no, it wasn't his mom but, despite everything, he wanted the hazy dream-like illusion to continue.

"'Fraid not," the pearly white grin of his brother shone against the rustic backdrop of the room they'd learnt to call theirs for eighteen years. Clapping the hand to Dean's shoulder, once he was sure he was okay, Sam stood and moved to the window. "There's snow." He stated, blandly.

"How'd I end up down here?" Pawing at his face, feeling the small scar from the accident on his cheekbone, Dean sat up and stretched; yawning. His shoulder blades were pretty intimidating, even underneath the black crew neck he wore.

"Think it was right in the middle of that dream you never, ever have...ever. You know the one." Sam pulled the curtain to one side and spoke with a ring of nonchalance that told Dean he had problems of his own. Scratching his clothed chest, Sam breathed a small cloud on the glass pane and brought a finger up to draw a random something into it. His brain, as engaged as it was the majority of the time, hadn't warmed up yet. "The one that normally ends with you rolling out of bed, landing on your face and getting a major nosebleed that scares the crap out of Bobby when he comes to wake us up."

"Shuttup..." Dean scoffed and pulled a hand through his hair. It was longer than he was allowed to have when Mary'd been alive because, since living under Bobby's roof, the rules were simple; so long as it didn't go past the shoulders, it was fine. So he'd grown it out and it flicked at the back, much like Sam's. It'd also become lighter since he was a kid, playing a sandy blonde against his slightly rougher skin tone.

Sam only continued to watch the snowflakes fall as Dean gathered himself up together and flopped back down onto his dipping mattress. After sleeping on the thing for eighteen years, straight, it wasn't fairing so well - especially considering the older Winchester'd put on a few pounds over the years. He blamed the pie and it probably was the culprit. A spring stuck right into the hollow of Dean's cheek but he couldn't have cared less, just so long as he got a few more precious hours of sleep before having to leave with Bobby for a hard day of work at the garage.

Believe it or not, as soon as he was old enough, Dean'd begged Bobby to give him a job at the yard. Whether it was because he'd taken to heart everything John'd said before burning his precious pointe shoes, or because he truly believed he was only ever going to be good enough to work behind a desk, Dean didn't know - or stop to think about it - but that was how it'd remained since he was fifteen.

Through curiosity, he'd watched Bobby tinkering with the cars that came in, fixing them and such, and had learnt how an engine worked pretty quickly. Soon enough, by his sixteenth birthday, Dean was changing oil and batteries every other day. Advancing further seemed to come naturally and dancing moved to the very back of his mind because he simply had no time to think about it when he had his top half under the hood of a Chevy.

A light, rhythmic snore started up and Sam just smiled to himself - a tinge of sadness to it. Dean'd told him about the recurring nightmare once and it sounded harrowing; walking into a pyre because you thought you saw your dead mom dancing in the flames. Definitely one to talk to a professional about but Bobby'd never forced that on either of them, believing that talking to each other would be the best medicine. And it had been in the beginning, before Dean'd hit puberty.

At that point he closed himself off and went about building walls to push down his feelings of insecurity. A cockiness emerged that sometimes bordered on irritating and arrogant but Sam knew the defining line was very clear. Thankfully, Dean rarely crossed it and whenever he did, it was always for good reason.

The knock on the door - followed by Bobby trying to jimmy the handle, a grunt and a quiet 'son of a bitch' - instinctively told Sam that it was six in the morning. Routine was important and it'd been established pretty quickly with Bobby. Padding the old, bare floorboards, Sam shuffled the heavy slot lock across and opened the door to catch Bobby before he went for the crowbar.

"Bobby," Sam stage-whispered, peering back over his shoulder to make sure Dean hadn't woken up. He'd shifted, sure, but only further into the gathering warmth of the blanket.

Bobby turned, holding a hand to his chest. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph, boy, try takin' my age into consideration next time, will ya?" He adjusted his cap on his head and stood at the top of the stairs. "Where's that brother of yours? Not drooling into my good linen again, I hope." Despite himself, Bobby smiled at that; the crow’s feet showing deep from years of trying to hold back smiles because of the two boys he'd learnt to think of as sons.

Coming out of the room, Sam gently pulled the door to and leaned on the banister. "I found Dean on the floor when I woke up." Tracing one of the random woodgrains in the rail, Sam's gaze met the older man's and they shared the same emotion almost simultaneously. "He thought I was Mom." Sam's eyes dropped and his brow creased.

Bobby was silent for a moment, just watching the clear chain reaction Dean's state had caused.

"'M not exactly surprised," the older man gestured loosely, "with hair like that. It's gettin' long Sam." Lightening the mood wasn't something Bobby was overly good at but he tried his best on the mornings when Sam barely spoke at the breakfast table because, even though Dean'd been there when Mary died, had seen it first hand, his brother adopted so many of the second hand feelings. Sam found his lips pulling into a light smile as Bobby started down the stairs, his footfalls slightly more conservative in strength. "Leave him be. He can meet me at the yard. No later than noon though."

The last words echoed from Bobby's somewhat stale kitchen, with its chipped, white washed cupboards and peeling floral wallpaper, and Sam nodded even though the older man couldn't see. Dean would get the undisturbed sleep he needed to function properly and Sam wouldn't be worrying about him getting drowsy and losing a hand in a horrible accident.

For the few precious hours, Sam read up on the defense case he was working on at the county courthouse and watched Dean sleep. At eleven, he finally shifted, tore a sheet of his yellow notepaper out and screwed it up before launching it straight at his brother's head. A clean hit. It even bounced over and rolled across Dean's face, tickling his skin with its ragged, scratchy edges. He grunted and sniffled; groaning.

"C'mon, Dean, you gotta get up, it's eleven." For a few minutes nothing happened and Sam let it be - going back to his work, making notes and flicking through pages of evidence - and Dean was quiet as he nestled back to a snooze. Suddenly though, his head rose and he turned his face towards Sam awkwardly.

"Did you just say eleven?" He questioned with a creased brow and squinting eyes that made him look like he'd just sucked on a lemon. Sam simply nodded and bit lightly at the end of his pen before humming in confirmation. "Son of a bitch-" Dean slapped his pillow, not directing the comment to anyone in particular, perhaps time itself, and sat up to rub his eyes and stretch again. "Why didn't Bobby come get me?"

As a reflex, and not because Sam'd pulled this trick on him more than once - changed all the clocks in the house to make him think he was going mad - Dean checked his wristwatch and groaned. It was eleven. He was late. Bobby was going to kill him.

"Calm down, young Skywalker. Bobby told me to let you sleep after I said you were on the floor this morning." Sam didn't look up from the papers as he wrote down some more notes, his free hand coming up to push back the hair from his eyes.

Dean just blinked at his brother. "What did you tell him, Sam?" The question was serious and it had the younger Winchester's gaze rising, face slightly flushed with guilt as his eyes froze on the man's across the room.

"Only that I found you on the floor when I woke up." The look on his face must've told Dean clearly that there was more because the older of the two didn't speak. "And that you thought I was mom-but that's it-I swear."

"Sam!" Dean let his face drop into his hands before he rubbed them across the skin, hard and unyielding. The last thing he needed was Bobby thinking he was incapable of telling his brother apart from his dead mom. He'd probably send him to therapy. And that meant talking; something Dean was notoriously bad at. Grumbling out a few more things under his breath, Dean stood and sighed, pulling the black t-shirt over his head and slinging it down onto his comforter.

It wasn't that he was angry, per se, at his brother for sharing that information with Bobby, but Dean liked to keep things close to his chest. Sam'd just happened to catch him at a weak point between wakefulness and sleep. In a perfect world, that vulnerability wouldn't be there and everyone would be super aware of their own feelings all the time. Bobby would be none the wiser of the nightmares Dean had almost every second night. They only got intense once in a while though and got worse when he was sick.

"I'm sorry, okay! What was I supposed to say? I already used the 'he wet the bed' excuse a million times. Jeez." Sam's eyes dropped and he had to hold in a laugh. He shook his head and covered his bottom lip with his top one. The fact that he'd actually used that excuse, without Dean's knowledge, was difficult to believe - but he had. Numerous times. More worrying, perhaps, was the fact that Bobby'd believed him and changed the sheets all those times. He could tell because Dean would complain that they were scratchy where they hadn't been the night before.

Pulling a pair of clean jeans and a grey crew neck t-shirt from the middle drawer of his dresser beside his bed, Dean closed it and unfolded the garments. He pulled his tongue gently between his teeth as he discovered the shirt was inside out and it remained there until the tags were on the inside. At which point he triumphantly smiled but let the expression drop when he looked towards his brother again. The infamous Winchester 'bitchface' replaced it and Dean pulled the t-shirt on.

"You better not be serious," he murmured, shaking his head lightly as he threaded one leg, and then the other, into the blue/grey jeans before getting the button and fly.

The very fact that Sam couldn't answer him had Dean's eyes narrowing and he grasped his heavy, feather pillow and launched it at the other. Sam took the hit graciously before throwing it back. "Jerk," he muttered, amused, as he sorted out his papers again into some kind of order. Catching the flying object easily, Dean grinned with slightly flushed cheeks and placed it back at the head of his bed.

"Bitch," was the reply as the older Winchester made his way out the door and down the stairs, towards the kitchen for toast.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit late for a Christmas chapter but....it's the part 1 (of 2) Christmas chapter. Leads into Dean meeting Cas in chapter 6 though :) Bear with. You're all doing great! 
> 
> (Seriously though, the support has been amazing from you guys and it's making me so happy to know this fic isn't boring the fudge out of everyone).

Dean jogged into the garage , almost slipping on the slushy, melting snow, at a couple of minutes before noon to find Bobby waist high in customers and no-one to help him. The festive season seemed to kick up a lot of broken engines and burned out clutches; simple things that were tedious to fix over and over again. 

Shaking the light snowflakes from his leather jacket - something John'd passed on, though Bobby, to Dean, for his twentieth birthday - the Winchester pulled off his gloves and scarf before making his way through to the back office for a hot coffee. The temperatures were some of the worst he'd lived to see, and that was saying something. He remembered, back when Sam was thirteen, that they'd been making snowmen and his little brother'd used his bare hands; much to Dean's horror.

Sam almost got frostbite and lost his fingers that Christmas.

Breathing out small puffs as he rubbed his hands together, against the chill, Dean shuffled from one foot to the other and clenched his jaw to stop his teeth from chattering as fiercely as they had been on the walk from Bobby's house. As always, on days like this, he trod the ground in front of the coffee pot, praying for it to work just that little bit faster.

"Enjoy your extra naptime, Sleeping Beauty?" Bobby jibed from the doorway, before he made his way inside, essentially leaving the shop unattended; save Ash. But he couldn't repairs cars any better than he could form a lasting romantic relationship. In fact, Dean couldn't recall ever seeing him actually get to any bases with women. The mullet probably didn't help but Ash refused to cut it on the grounds that it would be like losing a limb - to which Dean always replied that he would lose more than one if it got caught in something mechanical.

Dean rolled his eyes and refused to reply, a strange air of awkwardness flooding through him as the older man came to stand beside him and stared down at the coffee pot.

Soon enough, the thing was ready and they made their drinks in silence. Dean stripped off to his lower layers; a woolen pullover - that Jess'd knitted herself (clever girl) - and nursed the mug close to his chest. His cheeks were rosy but Dean couldn't have cared less at that point in time.

Sam and Jess had been dating ever since the accident. In fact, as luck would have it, the little scamp had asked her to be his girlfriend on the very day Mary died. To Dean, that seemed horribly fitting and unnerving at the same time, that something so profound ended and something so strong began in the space of a few moments, probably.

The older Winchester had learnt to love Jess like the sister he never had and fully expected Sam to propose when he'd earned enough money to buy them a place away from Bobby's. Of course, Jess worked too - she was a proficient baker and taught the First Graders at the school in town - but Sammy was the bread-winner for sure.

The green sweater brought out Dean's eyes - especially against the small blizzard now sheeting the outside world like the inside of a giant snow globe, minus the obnoxious shaking - and complimented his sandy blonde hair better than most of the blacks and greys he usually wore. Heck, this particular jumper only ever came out at Christmas.

"So..." Bobby started, as they sat opposite one another at the small table sipping their drinks. His eyes rose from the steaming coffee to fix on Dean's face, only to be ignored. It was to be expected and Bobby took nothing to heart. "You've got a dodgy back wheel and an oil replacement on the Mustang and the Chevy's got a 'click' apparently."

Downing the dregs, Bobby sneered a little at the strength of it and pushed away from the table. Dean didn't know why but he felt somewhat deflated by that whole exchange. Clearly, as clearly as the bluest sky on the best summer day, Bobby had wanted to approach the subject of the morning. But he hadn't. Putting his game face on, the Winchester clapped a hand to the flat surface of the table before standing and making his way out to the main workshop.

The day went relatively smoothly, with one or two hiccups; the biggest one being that Dean couldn't decide whether or not to take off his sweater. The Catch-22 went that he could save it getting ruined by taking it off but he'd lose the heat, or he could leave it on, stay warm, and run the risk of getting grubby finger smears all over it. After picturing Jess' face though, Dean had it off in an instant - much to the delight of the female customers.

That'd always happened, ever since Dean started working at Bobby's salvage yard. The tips went up if Dean wore a shirt that was that little bit tighter. As objectifying as it was, the older Winchester seemed to thrive on the fact. The small, rounded section of soft flesh around his tummy brought his confidence down but the ladies tended to look at his face and ass the most.

No problems there.

At all.

Wiping at his brow with the back of a greasy wrist, after being stuck under the hood of an old, red, '66 Oldsmobile 442, Dean made his way to the back room again to wash up at the end of the day. There was a thin line between looking good and being disgusting when oil was involved. Struggling to turn the tap, as Bobby seemed to think it was a good idea to tighten it with a wrench every day, the Winchester sighed and found himself simply leaning on the edge of the long, deep, metallic sink.

That nightmare had felt so real and it was the most frequent one recently. Bobby's heavy gaze had Dean ducking his face and clenching his jaw, as well as his hands against the rim of the basin. He knew this was coming.

"I'll see you back at the house, Bobby, 'kay?" Dean's voice was quieter than usual and he blamed it on the fact that the whole day had been pretty bizarre; from waking up on the floor, to Bobby letting him get to work late. The shuffling of feet had Dean's gut dropping because he knew it couldn't be that easy, it never was. "Look, Bobby-"

"Take out and a movie from the rental store tonight. Get cleaned up and don't be too late or we'll start without ya," Bobby replied, as gruff as he ever had been, seeming to push down any emotions he might've been feeling, so effectively, that Dean might've considered him ignorant, if he didn't know him so well. Without so much as a second thought, the older man turned the tap and Dean's eyes slightly narrowed. He'd had such problems with it a minute ago. "It's all in the wrist, boy. But then you should know all about that."

Dean's face screwed up like he'd caught a bad smell and Bobby just laughed before clapping a hand to the younger man's shoulder and leaving.

Slipping his hands underneath the warming stream, Dean smiled to himself. Finally he was alone and he could have a few private minutes to reflect on whether to open up to Bobby. It was something that'd been eating away at him all the way through his shift. Would he end up in therapy or worse if he opened up about Mary and the nightmare-memory that often left him on the floor of his room? He was so distracted that, by the time he made the decision not to talk, the water had heated to an uncomfortable, scolding temperature and Dean's skin was reddening beneath it.

"Damn! Ahh-shhh-" He hissed and pulled them away, cradling the limbs close to his body. They stung against the cold air of the room and moving them, even the smallest amount, only hurt them more. The tender flesh trembled slightly and Dean bit his bottom lip as he tried to dress himself up for the walk home. Somehow, after a lot of hissing, and grunting, he managed it but kept the gloves off.

It was Christmas Eve the next day and Bobby made sure to close the garage for the three days of the holiday - Christmas Eve, Christmas Day and Boxing Day - to make sure they actually all spent time together. There would probably be that one job though; that one person who had a flat or needed to get something out of their engine and Dean would volunteer to go and fix it. He was selfless that way because he didn't want to see someone else go without while he had everything he could realistically need in one place.

Flicking off the lights of the garage and locking up, his hands having soothed themselves to some degree, Dean started the trudge back to Bobby's house. The lower half of his face, including his full, bow lips, was snuggly covered by a long, beige woolen scarf that hung down his sides and his whole body was hunkered down in the leather jacket.

On the way back, he thought some more as he watched the dark sky absently. It was like the Heavens were weeping dense snowflakes and Dean smiled as several landed across his freckles and one, on the tip of his nose. To be a snowflake would be simple. But tragic. Dean wasn't much of a deep thinker but he did wonder what it would be like to be something else sometimes; someone else. What would his life be like if Mary had lived? What would Mary's life be like if he'd died, instead of her?

The warm glow and promise of heat, and food, coming from Bobby's house had Dean quickening his step and he almost fell through the front door because of the momentum behind him. It was so cold but, as soon as he was inside, his chest warmed. The waft from the kitchen was Chow Mein and other things he'd smelt a million times and something about that was reassuring. Things would be okay because he had his family.

"Dean, hey," Jess was the first to greet him, pulling him down into a hug despite the dampness of the jacket and scarf. "How was work?" Her blonde hair was pulled into a loose bun and her grin was like a cherub - so much so that Dean had to physically restrain himself from squishing her cheeks. The gaze she gave him, intelligent and caring, was one he never got tired of. Still, Dean only shrugged as he took of his outdoor clothes. "That good, huh? Well maybe you should come down to the school and deal with some screaming kids for a while, then you'll be begging for a day of work you can sum up in a shrug." She teased him with a nudge to the shoulder before Sam came up and took Dean's coat from him, hanging it up on the empty hook sandwiched between his own and Bobby's.

Dean's brow creased and Sam's mirrored it in response. It was almost like a secret language they'd created - one without words - for the times when others were in the room and things were bad in their lives. Just a simple look and Dean could know what his brother was feeling, and vise versa. Bobby'd come to accept it over the years and, although she was still curious, Jess said nothing most of the time, accepting that it was just something they did.

"Should probably grab some Kung Po Pork before someone eats it all," Jess leaned in conspiratorially and nodded her head towards Sam, who rolled his eyes and made a gentle grab for her waist. Her giggle filled the living room, the hall, the kitchen and halfway up the stairs, and Dean loved it. He drank it in, the sounds of life; of love. A moment later, when things got a little intimate and schmoozy between his brother and Jess, Dean made a face and padded through to the kitchen, the smell almost drawing him closer like it did in cartoons.

Bobby was spooning rice from a foil dish onto his plate and he looked up as Dean stopped in the doorway.

"You made it." He sounded half surprised and Dean raised a brow before glancing back over his shoulder at Sam and Jess. They were kissing. He stared, for a little longer than he probably should've. Seeing his brother so happy was a relief and Dean visibly relaxed, completely, for the first time that day. "And now you're bein' kinda creepy. Give the kids some privacy for cryin' out loud."

As though he'd been scolded, Dean averted his eyes in a heartbeat and cleared his throat before finally stepping into the kitchen. His heavy boots left vague, wet prints of the floor but Bobby didn't comment as he bit into a greasy salt and pepper chicken wing. Moving towards the numerous takeaway cartons, the Winchester picked up a plate and tucked a knife and fork into the pocket of his jeans before licking his lips and letting his eyes roam the selection.

After long deliberation, and some less-than-gentle encouragement (AKA Sam looking like he was going to finish off the Kung Po Pork), Dean decided on his food and piled his plate high with rice and the meat, along with a dousing of curry sauce. It honestly looked like some kind of scientific experiment but the aroma was mouthwatering. Proudly holding his masterpiece, Dean grabbed a beer from the fridge and moved back out into the living room. Toeing off his boots, with a little difficulty, the Winchester sank into the armchair he'd always favoured and placed the plate across his legs.

Snapping open his beer, with a small fizz, Dean brought the bottle to his lips for a generous swig. It felt like the night would be one of the best of recent months and it honestly couldn't have come at a better time. Dean was worn and fraying on the inside but he tried not to show it to those who relied on him to be strong.

Jess and Sam were sat on the old sofa and they looked like a little family of their own already. If he could, Dean would've given all of his wages to see his brother in a suit, marrying the girl of his dreams. But he couldn't because he needed to eat and pay rent to Bobby for the upkeep of the only place he'd really been happy, safe and not judged. Pulling a hand through his hair, making sure the longer fringe parted in equal measure at both sides, framing his face, Dean pulled the utensils from his pocket and dug into his food - making sure to wedge the beer between one thigh and the arm of the chair.

And that was how it went for a while, the click of metal against china.

That was until Jess leaned forward, placed her empty dish on the coffee table and swiped the rental dvd box. With a small skip - which Dean could see she regretted almost instantly - the blonde crossed the room to the television and engaged in a ten minute duel with Bobby's dvd player before relinquishing control to Sam. He kissed the crown of her golden hair softly before patting her butt as she pouted.

The affection between them made Dean slightly jealous but he didn't have the time, or the character, for a long term relationship. He'd been on a few dates, sure, and as a result he wasn't a virgin - far from it - but there'd never been strings attached. Things never got serious with Dean Winchester. A bit of rough and tumble that developed into feeling something wasn't how his story was going to write itself. That much he knew.

Thinking on the sorts of one night stands he'd had, Dean regretted a lot of them and, as a result, he hadn't dated in at least two years. The right person just hadn't come into his life.

"Love Actually?! Are you serious?" Bobby and Sam reacted in unison and Jess sat back on the sofa, triumphantly grinning. She'd been meaning to get Sam to watch it for a couple of Christmases but he'd always been far too aware of her plan, and thwarted it somehow.

A familiar, clichéd Christmas feel immediately grabbed hold of the screen and didn't let go for another two and a bit hours. Dean was bloated by the end, having finished off all of his food, but couldn't say he minded the storyline with the chick and her brother. Jess listened to his reasoning with that intellect written in her eyes and responded, saying her favourite plot was the boy with a crush because it reminded her of herself and Sam.

"Well, I hated the whole thing. I mean, c'mon, what're the chances of that stick of a girl not fallin' in love with that guy at the door? Seriously. If I'd made a gesture like that, I'd have been married a lot quicker than I was, lemme tell you that much." Bobby sounded somewhat scorned, like he'd been personally rejected and Sam reminded him that it was just a movie.

Clearing his throat and yawning, Dean rose from the chair sluggishly and breathed out long and hard. He'd regret eating so much in the morning but, for now, he was content and warm. Gathering everyone's dirty plates, the Winchester took them to the kitchen, thinking on washing them up. Before he could don the thick, yellow gloves, Bobby's hand snatched them. It was weird; he didn't even know Bobby'd followed him.

"You look exhausted, boy. Go get some sleep." Bobby took to physically shooing him away and Dean went, surprisingly easily considering his usual habits of wanting things to be done before he went to bed. He yawned wide again, almost like a roar and downed the last of his beer before grabbing a glass of water and vacating the room.

"Night, Uncle Bobby," he muttered, tiredly, while rubbing at his face. It was odd, he hadn't called the other man that for years. Needless to say, he didn't catch the answer - if there was one - because he was halfway to his and Sam's room. Whenever Jess slept over, which was quite often, she and Sam took the guest room because it had a double bed. It was a miracle his brother still fitted into the bunk he'd had since he was eight.

Cresting the top of the stairs seemed like a great achievement and Dean took a short breather, realising he was developing a stitch already. He never used to get them when he did ballet.

Thinking about it hurt, especially around Christmas, because as much as he forgot about dancing most days, because he had to, Dean still longed, just once, to open a present and find a pair of ballet shoes. Shaking his head, slightly laughing to himself at how absurd the idea was, Dean dragged his sorry ass to his and Sam's room, locked the door and slept restfully on his full stomach.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I didn't update yesterday, as I wasn't feeling well at all, I've decided to merge chapters 5 and 6 together and give you a tiny taste of Cas at the end. Perhaps another update Thursday, depending on uni work :)
> 
> Thanks for bearing with guys! It really means a lot to me!

Christmas Eve was just as great as always. Even though Sam was twenty-six, and Dean thirty, they still enjoyed the semi-ceremonial decorating of the tree and surrounding rooms. The living room always bore the brunt of their efforts but it never ended up looking tacky. As much as Dean always complained about having to get up so early to start the process, by mid-day, and after several of Jess' homemade cookies, he was more than invested.

Whistling along with the cheesy vinyl of Christmas song that Bobby'd put on, Dean was standing on a wobbly kitchen chair as he hung the tinsel around the window. He wound it, but not too tight, so that small, upside down arcs dipped every so often.

Sam and Jess were decorating the tree with baubles, old and new, as Bobby vacated the room with a suspicious looking duffel. Dean, of course, followed it very closely before it disappeared. So closely, in fact, that he almost lost his balance and toppled.

A small laugh had his attention back to his brother and Jess. They were sat close in front of the pine tree and Sam's arms were full of tiny, twinkling lights on a cord.

"Well, they work. That's one good thing." Jess' bright smile practically eclipsed them a thousand-fold and Dean could see his brother turning a faint, ruby red across the cheeks. "Now, I need two tall guys to help me load 'em onto this thing," she stood and motioned at the tree before putting one hand on her waist and bringing the other up to touch at her chin. "I wonder if Bobby knows any..."

Quickly switching the lights off, Sam dumped them down and hauled himself to his feet. Dean watched with a delicate expression of longing written into his eyes. He averted his gaze and ran his fingers over the spare line of green tinsel he held in his hands. Seeing Sam happy was his own Heaven but, to have someone like Jess in his life would be more than the older Winchester deserved.

Maybe that was the reason he had nobody? Because he was the reason Mary'd died that day.

Swallowing and whetting his lips, Dean cleared his throat softly and sniffed before tilting his head up, trying to hold back the sudden onslaught of pricking tears behind his eyes. The older Winchester busied himself and tried to ignore the blatant forehead-touching going on between his brother and Jess.

"Alright, alright, jeez you two. The Sammy I know only exists in a PG world. Don't spoil the illusion at Christmas. Have the heart to spare me." Dean rolled his eyes and shook his head, smiling unabashedly to himself, despite his previous speech, as his began to hang the last thread of shimmering tinsel across the old painting of an Irish Setter.

"The Sammy you know's the chubby twelve year old." Sam gently chided, parting from Jess to admire his brother's work. Dean truly was an artist in his eyes, especially when it came to Christmas decorations. "Whad'ya think, Jess?" The younger Winchester gestured across, towards Dean's handiwork and laid a hand on the small of his girlfriend's back; encouraging.

Jess nodded to herself, genuinely impressed because it just seemed to get more and more artistic and precise every year she spent the holidays there. "It looks beautiful."

"It's just some sparkly crap from the store for two dollars. C'mon." Dean carefully stepped backwards off of the chair and moved to stand beside his brother. He, too, inspected the work but with slightly more scrutiny as his tongue was caught lightly between his teeth. "It's so crooked, Bobby'll have a fit..." Tilting his head though, the Winchester pulled the corners of his mouth down and shrugged. "I'll fix it later, I guess. So," he turned to Jess, clapped his hands together and raised his brows with a wry smile, "how's about these tree lights, huh?"

An unknown amount of time passed as they finished dressing the tree and it was dark outside before any of them stopped to wonder how late it'd become. Just getting around the huge tree was hard enough but then they had to untangle all the cables and make sure the plug could reach the socket; which it couldn't at one point so some minor shifting was done.

It felt like a real Christmas though. And that affected Dean more than he was willing to share. Sure, they'd done this for years now but some of the times Sam had been away at Jess' or Bobby had been called out to fix a faulty exhaust. This was the first holiday in probably a decade that had all the worries dissipating from Dean's mind and he couldn't help, selfishly, wanting it to continue.

"What're y'all doin' standin' around like a bunch'a motherless geese, huh? The kitchen ain't gunna decorate itself, y'know. Hop to it." Bobby's voice was serious but his face told a completely different story as he weaved between the three of them and placed down the duffel under the - now heavy - pine tree.

Shooing them away, Dean not-so-subtly watching until Sam managed to drag him to the kitchen, Bobby crouched and unloaded the packages. He placed the ones for Dean furthest under the tree.

Finding an old box of decorations already put out for them, Sam, Dean and Jess set to work. Usually, the brothers dealt with that specific batch because it mostly comprised of things they'd made in school and such; that Bobby'd kept for sentimental reasons. The old coot still had the crudely painted stars and trees, as well as the crookedly cut snowflakes. Dean's handwriting was just as chicken-scratchy now, twenty-five years on.

Jess respected the hell out of the fact that the things had survived everything the boys had been through. It wasn't a secret, at least not between her and Sam, that the Winchesters' upbringing hadn't been all sunshine and smiles after their mom died, so Jess worked with a genuinely fond expression on her face the whole time. Others probably would've laughed or questioned, maybe even teased them - Dean particularly, because his work was always, in some small way, worse than Sam's - but not Jess.

Soon enough, the kitchen joined the living room in a state of Christmas cheer. Bobby had managed to dig out another vinyl of generic seasonal songs and it played softly in the background. Dean's stomach gargled and he touched a palm to it, almost wincing as he glanced at his watch. Since when was it six in the evening? As Sam stood back with his arm across Jess' shoulders, Dean went for the small fridge and opened it.

The off-white light came on and he inspected the leftover cartons of takeout; alongside the biggest goddamn turkey he'd ever seen in his life.

"Holy Holiday Dinner," Dean's tone was enough to lure his brother closer and Sam leant to peer inside as well. His face was a picture as Dean tried to restrain a huge smile from painting itself across his lips. "D'ya think Bobby's got someone coming over that we don't know about? That sly dog..."

Reaching inside, the older Winchester grabbed what appeared to be plain rice and another greasy foil tray before abruptly shutting the door. Sam recoiled, almost caught in the thing. "Jeez, Dean, is it really that tempting? Almost lost my arm."

"Then you'd have been screwed on those cold winter nights." Dean let the small, sarcastic laugh bubble out of him as he poured the cold food onto a plate and shoved it in the microwave.

"Shuttup, Dean. Jerk." Sam bristled and his face flushed before he cleared his throat.

Jess found it as amusing as Dean but moved across the cramped room and showered her boyfriend with affectionate touches. After a moment, they vacated, leaving Dean alone until his food was done.

It seemed like much longer than two damned minutes and Dean continued to wonder what Bobby could've put under the tree for each of them. He knew it wouldn't be anything huge or extravagant, because it never had been, but something worthwhile was better than something that looked pretty but didn't last. Drumming his fingers on the counter, the Winchester leaned and rested his chin on his palm as he watched the spinning plate inside the microwave.

As soon as it dinged, Dean pushed the button and the door opened, releasing a cloud of steam which he fanned away with a few swipes of his hand. The food looked less than appetizing but it would sustain him until the next day. Cradling the plate against his chest awkwardly - because the bottom was hella toasty - Dean plucked up a knife and fork and headed out of the kitchen to his and Sam's room.

"Ain't you comin' to watch the Dr Sexy Special? Apparently, that nurse gets him a new pair of cowboy boots, or so I read in the TV guide." Bobby called from the living room as he settled into one of the armchairs and flicked on the television.

"Spoilers, Bobby, jeez. I'll watch it online." Dean replied, halfway up the stairs. Rounding the landing, he opened the linen cupboard and reached onto the highest shelf for the bag of presents he'd bought for Sam and Jess. It had always been his hiding place and Dean found it surprising that his brother hadn't discovered it yet; eighteen years later. Nudging the door closed, Dean padded to their shared room and bolted the lock. The last thing he needed was company.

For Sam, he'd bought an iPad. Sure the kid probably had everything he needed in his head or on that laptop of his but Dean thought it would be more convenient and lightweight on those days when starting up a computer was just too much effort. For Jess, he'd bought Nigella's new cook book. In the store, he'd gotten a few odd glances but Dean'd mostly ignored them. He would be the one benefiting from Jess' cooking, not those douchebags.

And for Bobby, Dean had managed to frame a recent photograph of the three of them. It was uncharacteristically cheerful because both Dean and the older man were smiling. Sam, of course, had a reason to - he had Jess - so that was no big surprise but to look at a picture and see himself actually, genuinely smiling...

Dean felt horrible inside. He had no right to be that happy.

The longer he stared at the photograph, the more he hated the sight of it and Dean pulled a hand through his hair in an attempt to ground himself. Hell-only-knew why he'd even thought to make a present of it in the first place because, knowing Bobby, he wouldn't put it somewhere out of sight. So Dean'd have to see himself in a captured happy moment every time he came home.

The very thought had his stomach suddenly clenching against the reheated takeout and he put the plate to the floor after only a few forkfuls. Perhaps it would be easier to accept the existence of the thing if he wrapped it?

Moving from the bed, Dean opened the tall wardrobe and fought through the row of hanging plaid shirts to the back, where he found a few roles of wrapping paper. As he reached for one, the Winchester's eyes fell to his backpack and he froze. It'd been there for years but there was something different in Dean's chest this time. The zip was still undone and the soft, thick socks were hanging out of the front pocket.

Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Dean plucked up the roll of paper and slammed the door closed. He pressed his forehead lightly to the wood and sighed in slight defeat before he went about wrapping the gifts.

Keeping the sticky tape quiet was a problem but Dean managed it and, a while later, nobody would be any the wiser about what he'd bought them. Obviously the shape of Jess' gave it away but she'd just have to act surprised by the fact that he was giving her a book for the second year in a row. The year before it'd been Mary Berry - which resulted in some of the greatest apple pie he'd ever tasted - so Dean hoped Nigella would inspire Jess some more.

Gathering the packages, the Winchester moved to the door and shifted the heavy, half-rusted bolt across. It squeaked and snapped back, almost catching Dean's finger. He tiptoed out and down the stairs to be greeted with the sight of the illuminated living room. Dean had to catch his breath.

Tiny twinklings of white, green and red flickered slowly in a cycle around the tree and it looked just right. No branch was swamped or bare and the reflections of them lit up the new, healthy looking tinsel beautifully. Sam's light snoring caught Dean's attention and he peered over, finding his brother's body encasing Jess' against the back of the sofa, his strong arm slung over her waist. Dean contemplated waking them but they looked so damned restful there, so close they could almost be one person.

Taking a deep breath, Dean pushed himself forward, averting his gaze from his brother and Jess as he padded to the tree and laid down the presents. Theirs, for him, Bobby, and each other, were already in place and Dean smiled. The one for him was obviously a box of some kind, not the shoes he wanted, and the parcel for Bobby looked to be something like a set of shower products.

Dean tried his best to avoid those because it seemed like the very last gift on the list, when every other possibility had been exhausted. He couldn't see anything from Bobby, and didn't want to risk rustling anything too loudly to find out, so Dean just straightened and stepped back. The lights looked pretty but Bobby's electricity didn't deserve that much of a battering so Dean flicked off the socket and the room was consumed in darkness.

For a moment, he stood silent and still. Strangely, Dean couldn't move and he flinched at Sam's fluttering snore. It wasn't something that usually affected the older Winchester too much but, around this time of year, he felt more like ghosts would come to haunt him and the feelings had only intensified over the last decade and a half. A minute creak across the floorboards signaled Bobby moving and Dean let out the breath he'd been holding. His heart pounded slightly but nothing close to as fast or hard as it did in his nightmares.

Going through to Bobby's study, Dean grabbed the warm blanket and shook the dust out of it. Sam and Jess would wake up freezing on Christmas morning without it. As silently as he could, Dean made his way back into the living room and gently spread the blanket over his brother and Jess. He couldn't help a breath of laughter escaping at the fact that Sam's feet poked out of the end.

Somberly, Dean made his way back up to his room and closed the door but didn't lock it. Taking off his t-shirt and slipping the worn jeans down to his ankles before stepping out of them, the Winchester threw aside his comforter and crawled into bed. He was alone; very obviously so, and it almost hurt because it wasn't as though he was anti-social.

Dean knew how to flirt, he knew how to be charming and charismatic. He knew just how to look at a woman to get the reaction he wanted. In fact, he knew everything he needed to know about how to hook a one-night-stand.

That was the problem.

A one-night-stand.

Feelings weren't easy to express, so he repressed them. He'd molded them into a cocky facade that earned him scores of trailing gazes but nothing solid, nothing that said 'yes Dean, I want to be there beyond the morning after'. Maybe it had something to do with meeting the right person, but he doubted it heavily. Anyone could be the right person, couldn't they? Obviously they should share some of his passions; watching movies, listening to classic rock, goofing around, not being shy about doing a drunk karaoke with him, and...dancing.

Maybe that was where he'd been going wrong? Dean always put on the tough-guy mask but chicks dug the sensitive ones, the ones who could cry and not be ashamed. Definitely not someone like Dean Winchester then. All the thinking kept him awake for hours but, around dawn, he fell asleep.

Needless to say, Sam woke him up bright and early on Christmas morning. Dean had managed to screw himself up something terrible in the comforter and he was gripping it between his knees and laying on his front when he cracked his delicate eyes open. A pang of hatred ran through him for the merest of seconds as his younger brother pulled the curtains aside and let in the sunlight. Snow had fallen unexpectedly thickly the previous night and the reflection of it didn't help Dean wake up at all.

In fact, it pushed him further back into his wanton coma of warmth. That was until Sam tugged off the blankets and exposed him. Dean squirmed and groaned; definitely not a morning person. For a moment, he simply stayed in place thinking the old trick of 'stay still and they'll leave you alone' might actually work but Sam didn't leave. Soon enough, Dean scowled at him and sat up, clutching his ribcage for warmth.

"You're a massive douchebag," he chattered out against the very obvious lack of heating to the room - it only earned him a show of Sammy's pearly whites. Swinging his legs and planting his feet onto the floor, Dean chanced rubbing at his face and got the residue from his eyes before he was rubbing his arms, trying to warm them a little. "You gunna stand there looking like freakin' Buddy the Elf all damn day or do I have to threaten to touch myself to get rid of you?"

At that, Sam's eyes slightly widened and he shook his head. "Jeez Dean, wanted to make sure you didn't miss anything. How much sleep didn't you get last night." Sam teased as he sat down on his own bed, opposite Dean's. "Jess has gone home to get her gifts from her mom and then she's gunna come back. Says she wants to see you open yours from us so you've got a while to touch up those bags." He gestured loosely to Dean's face and the older Winchester frowned.

"If I've got time, I'm sleeping Sam. Ain't gunna waste time making myself presentable for ten minutes of one day of the year." Dean yawned and pulled his hand down his face again, completely missing Sam's small, knowing smile.

"I'll see you downstairs in ten, okay? She'll be back by then." Standing, Sam left the room without another word and Dean was a little disorientated as he looked around. In his boxer briefs and black t-shirt, Dean was so cold and he could see his breath if he puffed out hard enough. Still, he didn't want to let Jess down so he dragged himself out of bed and got properly dressed for the day ahead.

As expected, the tunes were already playing by the time Dean got downstairs and he had to shake off the headache that was beginning to pound behind his eyes. He always experienced them when he didn't get much sleep. Slinking into the kitchen, Bobby immediately noticed his odd socks and commented on it. Shrugging, Dean came back with a well versed; "screw you."

Waiting for the kettle to boil was torture and Dean leant on the counter with his face on his forearms. He sighed and tried his best to be cheerful when Jess poked her head around the door and greeted him. "Hey Jess, Merry Christmas." Dean slightly slurred out, his voice sounding as much like sandpaper as his throat felt. He scratched at his chest and yawned, trying to flatten down the day-old product in his hair but failing.

Jess found it kind of adorable and moved into the kitchen to plant a small peck on his cheek. It'd been that way this past year, since he turned thirty. Maybe it was just one of those things?

As the kettle took to whistling, Dean pulled it from the stove, wincing. The high-pitched screeching pierced right through his eardrums and it was far too early in the morning to be dealing with something so irritating. Reaching sluggishly for a mug and spooning coffee grains into it, generously, Dean pulled his free hand down his face and yawned wide again before adding the boiling water to the concoction. The smell immediately had him more at ease.

Without giving a second thought, the older Winchester slipped his fingers around the thick, warm cup and cradled it to his chest. "We should get to it," Dean muffled out, around the rim, as he brought it to his lips for a sip. His green eyes moved from Jess to Bobby and back before either of them caught the hint and moved.

Last out of the kitchen, Dean found Sam in a Santa hat - the bobble dropping to one side of his face, softly bouncing against his brown hair as he looked around and grinned. Clearly something about the look of the older Winchester was amusing enough to warrant a smile. Or maybe it was Jess...

They gathered on the sofa and Dean slumped into the large armchair, folding his legs over one arm and pressing his head against the other. After gift-giving, he decided he'd make an excuse and go back to bed until Bobby called up for dinner. The look on Jess' face, as Sam handed over the gifts he'd bought for her, warmed Dean so much and he watched the pair of them - all the time wondering why it wasn't an engagement ring. Turned out to be clothes. A really great red dress (that Dean could - but didn't want to - imagine being put to good use later that night), several pairs of 'jeggings', that the older Winchester didn't really understand the concept of, and socks.

Dean actually laughed at the socks. Every year Sam threatened him with them too but Jess was the one to suffer usually. Robots and cats were the design. The cats were obvious, Dean could understand those, but the robots were an odd choice. Still, Jess seemed more than delighted with them as her rosy cheeks flushed when Sam kissed her and she thanked him. Clearing his throat, Bobby saved the moment from becoming horribly awkward and leaned to scoop up his wrapped presents for the lovebirds.

The gifts were typical of Bobby and Dean slightly wriggled in his chair as the attention drew to him once they were done with the pristine bone china set that used to belong to Bobby's wife, Karen. Passing the dishes and cups down was only natural but Dean was glad he wasn't the one receiving them. If he'd looked to be settling down before his brother, he probably would've - the only good thing to have come out of being single for so long. Inheriting things like that was supposed to be a family thing and, even though they were close with Bobby, Dean wouldn't have felt right taking something that wasn't meant for him.

And so it had gotten to the point where Jess had her cookbook, Sam, his iPad and Bobby had already put up the framed picture of the three of them on the mantelpiece. Their faces beamed down over proceedings and Dean felt suddenly very vulnerable because of it. He moved to sit up straight and took Bobby's gift first.

It was the DVD boxset of Dr Sexy.

"You realise this won't be off the tv now, right?" Dean remarked, a solid smirk overtaking his face as he balled up the wrapping paper and tossed it at Sam's head. Bobby simply waved his hand and sat back, into the sagging couch.

"Yeah, well, now you won't be spillin' your gravy in your lap tryna watch it from the kitchen table at dinner time." Bobby sent back as he took off his cap and ran a hand through his thinning hair. Maybe it was a bad thing that he'd bought the box for Dean because it would mean the younger man would stay up half the night, every night, getting to grips with every detail of the show. Heck, he'd probably have a pair of cowboy boots by New Year.

Sam and Jess handed over their joint gift at the same time and Sam's hand lingered a little as his brother's fingers closed around the package. It was wrapped in unusually thick, silvery green paper and Dean sat back slowly as he looked it over, turning it. A catch in his chest formed as the Winchester peered down and then back up, to meet Sam's eyes. There was a knowing in them that had Dean swallowing and clearing his throat.

"Better not be anything you'll regret." The statement was in clear jest and Dean's face flushed a little as Sam encouraged him with a gentle nod. Jess' fingers curled around her chin and she couldn't contain herself - or it seemed that way from the almost palpable excitement coming from her. It filled the room and, usually, Bobby would've left to get a beer but he was strangely still.

Deliberately, Dean pulled on the tape and each end of the package came away. His fingers trembled a little uncharacteristically all the while and his foot tapped out a quick, shallow rhythm. Inside the wrapping was a box. Dean slowly lifted the lid as anticipation built inside him.

As soon as the lid was lifted though, Dean sharply inhaled and the room was deathly silent; no rustling of paper or even the sound of a breath. Dean could hear his own heartbeat but nothing else as he stared down, half blankly into the box. Inside were a pair of soft, black ballet shoes, a new pair of lightly shaded pointe shoes and a layer of darker material that Dean's mind assumed to be tights and ankle warmers.

"What the...hell..." Dean knew his face was either oddly red or ghostly pale; which, he would never know. Slowly, he drew a hand to the soft shoes and swallowed heavily as he touched them. Something about the mere sight of anything to do with ballet had him clamming up. He couldn't even thank them for the gifts because he couldn't find his voice after the initial shock.

The others watched. Sam frowned at the reaction, thinking maybe it was too much to pull on his brother on Christmas. Jess simply looked to Sam, reaching a hand out to soothe him - not that it did any good. Bobby got up and went for a beer.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Sam just about managed, hooking his fingers under the edge of the Santa hat and pulling it off. "I wasn't thinking, I guess. I just wanted to help you get back into something you love, y'know? We paid for classes for the whole year down at the studio but if you want me to cancel them and give you the money, that's fine too."

Dean didn't reply but nodded his head lamely as he stared down - still - at the items. "It's uh...s'okay Sammy. I just-" With his voice trembling, Dean fell quiet and stood slowly without another word, too bewildered to think about putting a sentence together rationally. Picking up the present from Bobby, and holding the box from the other two close, Dean left the living room and took the stairs three at a time before they could see him cry.

Behind the safety of his locked bedroom door, the Winchester tried to stall the emotions but thinking about dancing again brought up too many conflicts in Dean's chest and he felt like he couldn't breathe. Firstly, the crash that killed his mom and then when John had burnt his pointe shoes. It hurt to recall those memories and Dean didn't even make it to his bed before he was a wreck of tears, sobbing into his knees, back against the panel of the door.

Dean wasn't himself for most of January. New Year passed by like a normal day, with a little more drinking than usual but nothing else to mark it as anything special. On several occasions, Sam tried to apologise but the time was never right. The garage was tense sometimes and Dean was missing more little things in car engines than he had when he first started.

Truth be told, the older Winchester just wanted things to be better between him and Sam; for the sake of Bobby's business reputation if nothing else. Of course, there were hundreds of reasons but Dean never expressed them because he didn't play well with feelings.

For weeks he'd been debating whether or not to take the lessons but he'd been skirting around the issue, even when alone until it reared its head around the dinner table the night before his birthday.

It was chicken casserole that Bobby'd managed to half burn onto the dish. That fact wasn't exactly a surprise but the scraping against the glass made Dean grit his teeth around a tight smile as the older man scooped with effort until a section broke free. It plopped down onto Dean's plate with an almost heavy thud and steam plumed slowly up into his face.

"Uh, thanks Bobby," he said, sounding less than enthusiastic as he tentatively plucked up his knife and fork, fully expecting the thing to be radioactive or something of the nature. Bobby simply nodded, grunted, and moved around to repeat his action in feeding Sam. Dean watched in silence, his eyes not quite able to meet his younger brother's despite their feet brushing beneath the small table.

"Thanks Bobby," Sam sounded more excited about it, or maybe he was just better at lying.

Better at lying than Dean? Since freakin' when?!

So yeah, Sam was a lawyer but he was one of the honest ones so lying generally wasn't on his agenda. And yet, there he was, putting on a braver face than his brother.  
"It, uh, it looks really great, Bobby." Dean complimented, digging his fork into the side of the piece with less charring.

Sam looked up and his brows creased. He couldn't quite understand what Dean was getting at with the sudden shot of manners. In this situation, usually, his older brother would be snarking the crap out of the fact that Bobby was a grown man who couldn't even get by without burning a casserole. But this, this was unnatural and it had Sam's hackles rising as he cleared his throat.

The tension around the small table was pretty palpable and Bobby just spooned out the rest of the food and unceremoniously dumped the glass dish into the sink without a second thought, before returning to his seat. He shuffled it in loudly and glanced between the boys he considered his sons. They were so clearly at logger-heads that a 'talk' would have to be instigated or things would only fester. Because that was how arguments went between Sam and Dean sometimes - they didn't talk because Dean had grown up very introverted behind his bullshit facades to please the ladies and Sam didn't want to say anything to upset his brother and push him away because he looked up to him, essentially.

So unless Bobby intervened, they were screwed.

"I'm not gunna be butt-hurt if you tell me my cooking's a little trashy, Dean. No need to brown-nose me. Nobody likes a suck up." Bobby's speech was punctuated with several hearty stabs at the middle of his casserole before he shovelled some into his mouth and chewed it.

Dean's mouth moved like a drowning fish as he stared at Bobby before letting his gaze drop to his own plate. He shrugged half-heartedly. "You know what, I'm not actually that hungry anymore." The words were quiet and Dean made to put down his utensils. Instead though, they clattered to either side of his burned food and he instantly felt bad as Sam vaguely flinched in his peripheral vision.

"You're not leaving this table until you're done so I'd eat up quick, before it gets cold." As calm as Bobby managed to keep his voice, Dean could pick out the intonation of frustration. He knew Bobby wasn't saying that to teach him something, or out of spite. Bobby only said things like that when something needed saying.

Nevertheless, the thing in Dean that hadn't been right for the last month - not since Christmas - struck up and he lifted his head to glare at Bobby. "I'm not leaving the table?" He smirked bitterly and titled his head, letting out a tight breath. "Do I look like I'm still fifteen? 'Cause I'm sure I haven't heard you say that since I was. Besides, who do you think you are Bobby? Huh?"

Defiantly, Dean pushed his chair back and stood.

"Dean, sit down, eat." There was an order in there somewhere but Dean didn't hear it as his rebellious streak shone through so obviously. He pushed a hand through his longer hair and shook his head, folding his arms across his chest. Bobby looked up at him. "I thought you said you weren't fifteen anymore? Just sit down and eat, boy!"

Sam had put down his knife and fork and sat slightly stunned by the whole exchange. He would probably end up having to pull Dean away and up to their room but he never liked it when things got particularly physical, especially since both he and Dean had grown into pretty big guys.

Dean was first to actually raise his voice. "Boy?! I'm not a boy, Bobby." The older Winchester started to pace, not really knowing why he was making a fuss about anything but imagining he'd be humiliated if he stopped mid-flow. It was all or nothing in this case and Dean didn't do things by halves. "In case you haven't forgotten, I'm almost thirty-one."

"Could've fooled me. Maybe you should start acting your age instead of your shoe size, son."

It was almost like Bobby used that word on purpose and Sam had even begun to reach out towards his brother before Dean's comeback inevitably left his lips. "You're not my dad."

Dean swallowed back anything else he could've said when he realised just how fucking ungrateful he sounded in that moment. Bobby was the closest thing to an actual dad he had; one who loved him anyway. He and Sam'd been able to live under that roof, safe and secure behind Bobby's protection for the last almost two decades and this was how Dean repaid that kindness?

"No. I'm not. Luckily. You'd probably be gettin' a couple'a smacks if I was but, as it stands, you're on dishes." Bobby just continued to eat until Dean sat back down and finished off his half-cold casserole. Sam watched them both but said nothing else for the whole meal.

Standing beside Sam, Dean barely looked up from the suds in the metallic sink. The thick yellow gloves that covered his hands protected them from the boiling water in which he cleaned the dishes. It was a thorough wash and actually turned out to be pretty therapeutic on the whole, though he'd never admit that. Sam cleared his throat and Dean glanced to him.

"You've been scrubbing that dish for eighty-four years now," Sam joked and held out the hand free of the dishcloth. Dean passed it over, making sure his brother had a firm grip before releasing it and starting on the next one. The squeak of the sponge made the room less stifling. "Dean-"

"Don't." The older Winchester could almost predict the reprimand that was to come from his younger brother. Sam had mostly been the one to keep his cool in situations like what'd happened that night and he constantly tried to give Dean advice on what to, and not to, say or do in front of Bobby. "I can't take being upset at you too, Sammy."

Sam's brow creased and he moved to open the cupboard and put the plate inside on the old shelf. "I thought that was what this was all about, Dean; the fact that you're upset with me but can't tell me so because you didn't wanna hurt my feelings. So you took it out on Bobby instead." The plainness of the explanation almost made Dean drop the plate he was washing and he turned his face slightly away as he leaned on the edge of the sink with one hand. "I shouldn't have gotten you that stuff for Christmas, I know that now. I made a stupid mistake and I'm really sorry, Dean."

Despite his height and build, the vibe Sam gave off made him seem so much smaller, like the eight year old who lost his mom on the same day he asked out the first girl he ever liked. Dean whetted his lips and shifted his weight a little uncomfortably before straightening his back like the older brother he should be.

"I'm fine, Sam. That stuff just caught me a little off-guard, is all. I didn't honestly know how to react and it was like someone'd stuffed Mom's ashes in a box and sent 'em to me, y'know?" Okay, maybe that was a little strong but Dean seemed to get his point across in a way that only Sam could understand and he nodded. "Besides, the old coot asked for it, callin' me boy." A firm smirk took its place on Dean's face and he pawned off another dish to his brother.

They carried on that way until they came to the glass dish. It seemed beyond saving but Sam insisted that they should soak it and wash it out the next day.

Dean's birthday fell on a Sunday that year and Bobby didn't need him at the garage so he had the day to himself. He considered going to the movies but there wasn't anything good on and who went to the movies on their own anyway? Waking up late had been interesting, considering Sam was in court and Bobby was at work. Dean had the whole house to himself and, needless to say, some very heavy self-petting occurred.

It'd been a while and afterwards, as Dean panted up towards his bedroom ceiling, his body covered with a light sheen of sweat, he thought earnestly about going to one of the classes. It would be something different on his birthday - not that Dean liked change but it couldn't hurt that much, right? With a grunt, and a stretch, and a yawn, the Winchester managed to sit up and he curled in on himself, looking down at the tummy he'd accumulated over the last few years.

Of course, covered in spunk it looked even less appealing. Standing then, Dean padded tiredly towards the bathroom he shared with Sam and gazed at himself in the mirror after shutting and locking the door behind him. A mess of hair stuck up at the back, from what he could see anyway - probably where it'd been pressed against his pillow a few minutes before - and the bags beneath his eyes spoke volumes. He was not in good shape.

The shower was strangely not temperamental with him and Dean enjoyed a whole half hour's worth of uninterrupted warm water before the boiler began to protest. At that point, he climbed out, detaching himself from the obstinate shower curtain, and wrapped a towel around his waist. Wiping the condensation from the mirror, Dean took in how red his face was and hoped he hadn't scolded his neck at all.

Dressing didn't take long, after he'd dried off, and he styled his hair as best he could considering the length of it. He figured he should probably get it cut at some point. Taking a deep breath, the Winchester unlocked the door and the steam followed him out in a cloud that dissipated when it met the coolness of the house's atmosphere. Having grown up with limited heating, Dean was used to being both warm and chilly.

Then came the hard part.

Dean sat down on his bed and pulled on his boots. The cut of his jeans hid them nicely and his sweater was a light blue with a pattern across the chest. He zipped that up and fished about, under his bed, for the duffel bag he kept for trips. It was empty, if a bit dusty and Dean shook it out before standing and moving to the wardrobe. Gently, he eased it open and the christmas paper greeted him; torn how it had been on the day he'd opened the box containing the ballet things.

Facing demons like this had Dean's stomach falling and he almost slammed the door closed but he knew nothing would get done, nothing would change, if he didn't take matters into his own hands. Others, like Sam, Bobby and Jess, could only help him so much. Reaching inside, the older Winchester grasped the side of the box and pulled it out.

The lid was safely in place and Dean cradled it to his chest as he sat back down on the edge of his small bed. Inside that box held possibilities that were hard to think about; how could he possibly go back to dancing after so long and after something so sad was attached? The only option was to face it with a clenched jaw and a hard heart. Dean opened the box but nothing hurt, strangely.

It was as though something inside him had come to rest and he simply picked the soft pumps, pointe shoes, ankle warmers and tights out and exchanged them into the duffel before zipping it up and letting out the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.

The room was silent, as was the rest of the house as Dean swiped the handles up and grabbed his keys from the dresser. Writing a short, chicken-scratched note and leaving it on the kitchen counter for whoever got in first, Dean stepped out into the cold of January and slid into the sleek, black Impala parked out front.

Having once belonged to John, the Impala - that Dean affectionately called 'Baby' - had only reminded him of Mary and had been passed down to his eldest son as soon as Dean was old enough to drive. Of course, Dean took great care of the vehicle, making sure to wash her every now and then and make sure no dinks or scratches appeared on the bodywork.

The drive to the dance studio was nerve-wracking and Dean almost had to pull over because he felt queasy. What if it was a classful of professionals who made him look like he was a four year old kid who couldn't tell his left foot from his right? What if they all laughed at him? What if the teacher thought they were wasting their time with him and told him to leave? Every 'what if' only added fuel to the fire of Dean's waning self-confidence but, before he even knew it, he was pulling into the parking lot of the studio and shutting off the engine.

Taking stock of those around him, Dean couldn't exactly say he could see the obvious stand-out pupils. There were middle-aged women with rolled up yoga mats and parents with small children in tiny tutus, as well as several teens - who could easily be students - gathered around, talking with one another. They looked to be there for ballet as they all had on the 'get-up' (as Dean's mind couldn't help calling it).

Opening the car door, Dean grabbed the duffel from the passenger seat and climbed out before closing and locking the driver's side. Squinting over the roof of the car, he watched the others gather and then enter the building. He followed tentatively.

Automatic doors welcomed him with a rush of warm air and Dean shivered slightly against the sudden change. The reception was quiet and the walls were lined with photographs of some of the most majestic dancers Dean'd ever seen. His mouth must've been hanging open because the girl behind the desk smiled and sat forward, leaning on her forearms as she addressed him. Dean's attention was immediately on her but he was bewildered.

"Can I help you?" She asked, her cheeks lighting up with a rosy blush as he approached and laid a flat palm to the counter.

"Uh, I'm so lost. I'm looking for, uh, the, um, I'm looking for the ballet class?" It wasn't so much a question but the way Dean had stalled made it seem like one. He was embarrassed, yeah, what grown man who'd been brought up the way he had wouldn't be? Still the girl only smiled, very genuinely and pulled out a slip of paper to draw a crude map. Dean watched her hand expertly moved across the blank sheet, working out the corridors in her head like she'd been doing it all her life.

Why couldn't it just be at the hall where he'd been taught as a kid?

"So if you just go right through that door there and then take a left, up the stairs, three door straight ahead of you and then take a right and you'll be right there. Oh, um, what's the name?" Charlie - Dean took record of her name badge - handed the map to him and poised her pen above another sheet of paper, like a register.

Dean took the paper and looked at it like it was the most foreign thing in the world. "Uh, Winchester. Dean Winchester." He replied, almost automatically to her questioning before she told him he could go right on through.

Every window he passed, Dean looked inside. He couldn't help the child-like curiosity that spiked inside his chest at the new sights of strangers stretching and dancing. The hip-hop class looked too agressive but something he might like in the future - to let out bouts of anger that were worse than the others. Following the directions Charlie'd given him, Dean found the room and peered through the thin glass pane in the heavy door.

The young, limber students were warming up. They all looked really good, so natural, damnit. They looked professional. He almost turned and left but something - someone - prevented him. Though he was basically evesdropping through the smallest gap in existence, Dean's attention couldn't have been fuller on the dancer if he'd been two feet away.

A white vest, black tights and a pair of blue leg warmers danced in flashes through the other students who obscured Dean's view but he could see enough to know this dancer - this guy - was professional. The dark hair was impossibe to miss against the majesty of his slightly paler skin and Dean's breath caught in his throat as he watched; absolutely unblinking.

To enter the room then would've been too rude so he'd let the guy finish and then go in and look like an idiot in front of talent like that. Just to be in the proximity of him though, to watch him work, to see how his stance changed and how his body took the strain...

Dean found himself humming along to the song he could faintly hear playing behind the glass. He didn't know it and wouldn't have been able to understand it anyway (because it wasn't English), but it didn't seem to matter. The crescendo built and built and every time Dean thought he'd seen the grace come to peak, he was surprised by something else; another jump or simple flick of the guy's strong, sleek wrist and, silently, Dean willed him on to succeed.

As the routine finally came to an end, it was so obvious how much it'd taken out of the guy. His body was visibly trembling. Dean's breath puffed out hotly against the glass panel in the door and his fingers were clenched so tightly around the handles of the duffel that he could've easily drawn blood. Who knew something so simple could affect someone so much? Swallowing, Dean tried to pull himself together but as soon as he managed to lay a hand on the door to push it open, it was opening from the other side and someone was in his face.

In his face, and his personal space.

Personal space was usually an issue with Dean but he could keep it under control in most situations; aside from those when he was relatively startled. Like right then. And to top things off, it wasn't one of those dumb students - no. It was the freaking Dr Sexy of ballet.

"Uh-" Dean half blurted as his mouth refused to respond to any commands once his eyes locked with the crystalline blues of the other guy. A hand immediately went to the back of his neck and Dean could've rubbed it raw with embarrassment as he side-stepped at the same time as blue eyes. Of course, Dean couldn't see how goofy his own smile was but it seemed endearing enough for the other guy because he gave one back - a half smile out of one side, exposing a row of pearly whites a lot like Sam's.

Stepping back, Dean let the blue eyed guy out of the room and watched him make his way down the corridor towards the bathroom. He even watched the door close behind the guy before swallowing and letting his fist unclench by his side. Chuck-Freakin'-Norris! What the hell was wrong with him? Was one dance all it took to get into Dean Winchester's veins now?

Nevertheless, Dean waited by the door - not creeping at all - until the dark haired guy came out of the bathroom and trundled back towards the class. He tilted his head at Dean and let another easy smile slip onto his face. "Are you here for class?"

Are. You. Here. For. Class. The five words that were to be Dean Winchester's undoing. Especially with a voice like that. Holy balls.

"Uh, y-yeah, yeah," Dean managed, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks as the intense blues checked him out so very obviously. "Not too old, am I?" He joked nervously before whetting his lips and putting on his best cocky smirk. The guy simply shook his head.

"Dancing's not about age. It's about feeling and expressing the things you can't say. You look like you could use it, honestly. The changing room's there," he pointed and Dean's gaze immediately followed the line of his arm. "Come and join us whenever you're ready, alright?" On passing back into the class, the guy reached out and touched Dean's arm, patting him with a reassurance that spread so quickly - like a fire on the Winchester's skin.

"'Kay," Dean's eyes followed the guy as he returned to the front of the class and took up a place between two female dancers, holding the barre as he practiced stances.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Dean and Cas FINALLY ACTUALLY meet talk to each other for a lil bit :)

Getting changed felt pretty public even though he was the only one in the room filled with lockers and benches. It reminded Dean of the one at the highschool there, in Lawrence, and he slightly quickened his already pacey undressing. Pulling on the tights, Dean felt so self conscious about the fact that his calves weren't what they used to be. It wasn't even like they could be considered to be muscular; they were just flabby - especially compared to the streamlining of that perfect, blue eyed douchebag in the next room.

Damnit.

The black material clung to his body and outlined him so obviously that Dean almost couldn't go through with wearing them and had second, and third, thoughts about just going in there with his jeans on. But that would only draw more attention to himself and that wasn't something Dean set out to bask in - not in this instance anyways.

Slipping the thick ankle warmers over his feet, adjusting them into a comfortable position, Dean followed them with the soft ballet pumps. Pointe shoes didn't seem like the kind of things he should be wearing at the moment, especially not so soon after starting again, as they would play all kinds of hell with his toes. Not to mention the strain his ankle joints would experience if he tried to push them before they were ready.

Shimmying into a pair of longer, dark, loose shorts and tying them at the waist, Dean looked down at himself. He looked like a complete idiot but he couldn't say he minded. The thing he did mind though, the thing he had to take stock of, was the tremble that went through his hands as he pushed the door open and made his way across the corridor to the wooden-floored room to join the class.

For a moment he stalled, but those inside looked to be deep in practice and Mickey Blue Eyes was trundling about, touching them, talking to them, guiding them.

Oh. Frak. No.

Their eyes connected as one of the girls nodded towards the door and the guy made a gesture for Dean to enter. It was open enough, and genuine looking, but Dean just couldn't find the courage in himself for a moment. Giving himself a short peptalk, the Winchester pushed the panel and entered the room.

A soft melody played from the speakers in each corner and it relaxed him somewhat, simply because he didn't have a clue what it was. The thought that maybe the others didn't know either gave Dean a shred to hold on to and he moved forward, his body fighting hard against hunching in on itself.

"You must be Dean," it was weird that something so plain could sound so incredibly personal and Dean brought a hand up to rub at the back of his neck and he ducked his face, coming to a halt just in front of the other man. "Charlie told me I'd had a new one on the list since before Christmas but you never came."

Nervous tension rode heavy through Dean's veins and he cleared his throat, nodding. "I wasn't sure if I wanted to take it up again. Wasn't sure if I'd have the time." The truth mixed with the lie was so unconvincing that Dean wondered if the guy would see right through him.

"Well, I'm glad you decided to, for whatever reason. You said 'again'. When was the last time you took a class?" The question was asked with a genuine curiosity that didn't sound at all mocking. Clearly this guy didn't think Dean was an entirely lost cause. "And you don't have to be shy here, nobody's going to judge you. One of my Tuesday lot, Mr Turner, is over fifty and graceful as I ever was," he leaned closer to Dean and the Winchester's heartbeat pounded against his own ears, "but don't ever tell him I said that."

With a glimmer of mirth in his blue eyes, the guy gestured and Dean followed the direction with his own green orbs. The barre awaited him and Dean's stomach fell. This was the moment he'd been dreading most but also looking forward to most. It was the beginning of something new and frightening.

Padding slowly towards the side of the room, following behind the trail of blue leg warmers, Dean took up a place relatively isolated from the rest of the youngsters and stood parallel, one hand gripping the wooden barre like his life depended on it.

"I stopped dancing nineteen years ago." Dean stated quietly and he lifted his face to see the blue eyes watching patiently. It unnerved him slightly to see someone so willing to take the time to pay him so much attention, considering they didn't want anything for themselves. Women treated him this way when they wanted a quick fuck but that definitely wasn't on the agenda in this instance - mainly because this guy was just that; a guy.

"Nineteen years is a long time. It's going to be difficult but you'll adapt into the routines pretty quickly, I hope. Do you know the Positions?" Facing Dean, blue eyes (whose name Dean'd either missed or it hadn't been mentioned) took hold of the barre in a fluid motion and let his whole body relax. Dean could see the tension leave him and it was a small thing of beauty to be so at peace so quickly. It'd probably take the Winchester a good hour to get to that point.

Still, Dean simply shook his head and lowered his gaze, feeling a little ashamed to admit that he'd forgotten them over the years. The response wasn't one of harsh words and reprimands but instead, firm - and gentle - hands touched to his abdomen. The contact was unexpected and Dean sucked in a sharp breath. Being touched by another man wasn't something the Winchester had ever associated with safety or comfort or kindness - except contact from Sam, but that was different. "Woah, hey there, cowboy."

A short breath of air came across the space between the pair of them and Dean's eyes shot up, catching the other's.

"Your hips're too far forward, you'll hurt yourself." The hold tightened and Dean swallowed hard, holding in the pant that threatened against the back of his throat. His green eyes watched as the other man stepped forward and out to stand beside him, gauging all the while - blue orbs fixed to his slightly rounded waistline. "I'm Cas, by the way."

Dean felt Cas round to his back and the hands trailed with him, pulling him back the minutest amount until he stood straight as an arrow. The touch lingered a little longer than Dean anticipated and he felt Cas' thumbs press into the dimples of his pelvis as a last measure.

"Cas," Dean tested the name but didn't trust himself to say anything more for a moment, out of fear of sounding way too into it. "Is it short for something?" He genuinely didn't mean to sound intrusive but 'Cas' wasn't exactly seen on too many birth certificates - or so he imagined anyway.

An immediate, if minuscule, change occupied Cas' hands on his waist and Dean regretted asking the question. Still, an answer came after a sigh of breath against the Winchester's neck. "Castiel is my birth name but I don't go by that anymore because it's a mouthful, isn't it?"

Dean could almost hear the smile in the other's voice, despite not knowing him for more than ten minutes, and he couldn't help letting a light grin come to his face at the same moment. From his peripheral vision, Dean caught Cas moving back to stand in front of him again and he could stop himself from followin the lithe body with his gaze. As obvious as he tried not to make it, Dean had to wet his dry lips.

Cas, whether he saw it or not, said nothing as he took up his position facing Dean again.

"Alright, so, this is First Position." Cas touched his heels together, knees and thighs following behind and his toes pointed outwards, forming almost a perfectly straight line. "We won't worry about your arms right now because I don't want to overwhelm you with too much on the first day."

The relief was obvious on Dean's face and Cas just watched and waited patiently for the Winchester to copy his stance. It was difficult, what with Dean's bowed legs and his calves protested something terrible against the oddness of the strain.

"Your muscles'll get used to the Positions after a while. It just takes a little time and, if you practice every day then it'll - more than likely - become your natural stance." Cas had barely finished talking Dean through the position when one of the girls came up and took his attention.

Without what appeared to be a second thought, Cas moved away and crossed towards the other side of the room. Dean watched him go with a strange desperation in his eyes. He suddenly felt like a child again, stuck only knowing one thing in the new environment, and he moved his feet out of the shoddy First Position he was attempting.

Dean supposed it was an irrational feeling, seeing as Cas wasn't even twenty metres away, but he watched the way the other communicated with the girl; the way he touched her body, feeling the movement in her limbs. Weirdly, the Winchester felt a jealous stab as Cas' hand trailed up her hip in such a gentle but commanding manner. He felt like leaving but that would be immature and completely unwarranted because they'd only just met and he wasn't even into guys anyway.

Never had been, never would be.

For the next half an hour - Dean kept meticulous count because he recognised the minutes that Cas wasn't in his proximity with great displeasure - Dean waited. He couldn't help the abandonment issues that reared their ugly head as the time went on and he frowned as he ducked his face and pulled a hand through his hair over and over.

Nerves bubbled and overflowed and Dean had to leave. Clenching his jaw, he turned and his back was horribly rigid, like it was when John would shout at Mary when she was alive.

"Dean!" Cas called after him and jogged to catch the door before it closed behind the Winchester. "What's the matter?"

Dean didn't turn immediately and he bit the inside of his cheek harshly. "Uh, look, Cas," he paused as several yoga moms passed by, eyes watching them before they turned the corner. "I don't think this is for me."

"What? Why? You were doing so well." Cas leaned against the doorjamb and tilted his head as his brows pulled together. He crossed his arms over his chest, only wanting Dean to answer if he wanted to.

The Winchester huffed out a laugh and shifted his weight before he turned to face the other man. He looked vaguely down at Cas, the height difference giving Dean a feeling of slight superiority even if he didn't have so much confidence at that moment. Avoiding Cas' gaze, Dean stared over his shoulder at the poster pinned to the end of the corridor.

"Are you kidding me? I was shoddy as hell back there." Dean replied, letting his eyes finally fall to Cas'.

"It was your first lesson in almost two decades, Dean. I think you're expecting a little too much." Castiel's blue eyes were calm as a millpond and Dean felt bad for reacting the way he was. Patience was obviously something the other had practiced over the years and it was almost embarrassing to see how quickly Dean lost his cool. The level tone of Cas' voice couldn't have been more strangely comforting.

Biting his bottom lip, Dean pulled a hand down his face. "If you hadn't left me standing there looking like a virgin in a strip joint-"

"You're not the only one in the class, Dean. Not everything is about you." A long pause consumed the air between them as they both took on board their vaguely harsh words towards each other. For a first meeting, it was proving to be something very interesting. First and foremost because Dean was figuring out whether he thought Cas was an asshole or not. Why start something and then walk away? Maybe that was how he lived his life; walking away from things that would flounder without him. "Look, just come back inside and bear with me. I was almost done with Meg, alright?"

Without waiting for an answer, Cas backed up to the door and held it open for Dean. The Winchester pulled a face but walked through anyway, rejoining the class. Not a single one of them turned around as they were quite absorbed in their own business.

Dean took his place back at the barre and looked down at his feet, willing them into First Position.

"Always look ahead, never down. Looking down pulls you down, looking ahead lets you imagine where you could be. You've got potential, Dean." Cas' voice soothed him but it was the hands on his hips again, aligning them, that put Dean more at ease than anything. "See, you've made progress already. Now, this is Second Position."

Cas only left Dean alone for another brief moment once, when he announced to the class that they should practice what they'd been rehearsing. After that, his sole attention was on the Winchester and Dean couldn't say he minded it at all - which was out of character for him. They moved through the different stances and, by the time the class finished, three hours later, Dean's legs were aching like a bitch.

The others piled out of the room, sweating a little, but Dean stayed behind for a while until it was just him and Cas. The other man was slipping off his leg warmers as Dean approached and Cas raised his head, an easy smile sitting plainly on his lips.

"Something I can help you with, Dean?" Cas' blue eyes blinked around the pink flush of his sharp cheekbones and Dean gulped down the sound that wanted to erupt and whetted his lips.

"I, uh, I wanted to say, um, that you were...really awesome...uh, before I came in. I was watching from outside the door-not in a creepy way..." Dean cut himself off before it got even more awkward. There was complimenting and then there was where that conversation probably would've started to head - which wasn't a good place at all.

Cas smiled wider and let his gaze flicker away from Dean's face. He hummed, as if to acknowledge the compliment, before standing and turning his blue leg warmers between his strong hands. "Thank you, Dean."

"No problem," Dean could see the faint colouring deepening across Cas' face and he cleared his throat kind of awkwardly to break the engulfing silence that fell between them then.

"Will I see you next week? Same time, same place?" The tone of the dancer's voice seemed oddly desperate, like he didn't want Dean to say no. Their eyes locked again and the Winchester gulped audibly.

"Yeah. Probably." A more confident smirk spread over Dean's features and he rubbed his sweating hands down his dark tights. Nobody had ever affected him this way before and Dean didn't know how to react to the situation. Castiel nodded and reached out to touch the small of the other's back, turning them almost as a single being. "Maybe I'll even drop in and check out Mr Turner on Tuesdays."

Cas' hand slipped away after a moment and the loss of contact was horribly evident, but Dean said nothing about it - simply followed beside the other as they started towards the door. "I take classes Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday every week so maybe you can 'drop in' a little more often than just Tuesdays."

It seemed so flirtatious and Dean laughed; Cas along with him. Their voices sounded so damn good together and Dean's heart fluttered unnaturally in his chest. "I've got a job so I'll have to work around that, I guess."

"Tuesdays and Fridays are late classes, six 'til ten in the evening. Charlie can write that down at the desk for you, so you don't forgot." Cas drew in a breath and his face softened. Truth be told, he wanted Dean to come back because he could see so many tight muscles in the other's body that something had to be done about them.

Dean raised a brow but said nothing about the obviousness in the way Cas told him things. The little details like that gave Dean faith that the other believed in him more than he probably should. Cas would only be another person he'd let down in the future when he failed.

Opening the door and holding it for Cas, Dean let him pass through before following himself. They crossed to the changing room and the awkwardness descended quicker than a skydiver without a parachute.

Castiel was first to strip off his thin white top. Dean tried not to look as he pulled his jeans from his duffel and shucked out of the shorts before pulling them on. There was no way he was undressing anymore than necessary in front of Cas - especially when it was only the two of them in there.

"I told you not to be shy, Dean," came from the other side of the locker room and Dean glanced over, his bottle green eyes so obviously taking in Cas' lean torso. In all honestly, he expected the dancer's body to be less muscular but it fitted Cas so well.

Dean found himself staring, unabashedly then, and Cas didn't stop him.

The way Castiel stood, his feet naturally seemed to part as though he was constantly taking up the First Position Dean'd re-learnt that day. His dark tights did nothing to disguise the years of training on his long, wrought legs and he appeared so serene that Dean was almost jealous of him.

"And now you're staring." Cas wasn't even looking towards Dean when he spoke up again, in fact he was pulling on a tight t-shirt and a pair of torn, light blue jeans over his tights as he faced his open locker.

Dean immediately looked away, feeling his face warming. He tied the laces on his boots and zipped up his duffel as Cas was gathering his things together. "I'll see you later, Cas."

Before Castiel could reply, Dean was gone.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys're still kind of enjoying this. I haven't been able to write as often as I would've liked but I'm getting there, slowly. Uni work is getting intense so updating might be a bit slow.

He had been staring.

Dean Winchester had been staring at another guy.

A guy.

At the garage the morning after his birthday, Dean felt dirty. He'd gone to a bar - he couldn't remember the name - and picked up a chick, gone back to her place and spent the night. She'd had light hair and brown eyes; the complete opposite of anything to do with Castiel.

Bobby had had to correct three major mistakes Dean'd made that morning as they sat down for lunch at mid-day.

"Those hands'a yours're gettin' worse, boy." The older man commented as he bit into one of the biggest sandwiches Dean'd seen around the garage in a long time. "Sure you're cut out for this? 'Cause from what I've seen today, I should fire you right now."

Dean looked up from his coffee and frowned. "Fire me? It was one nut, Bobby."

"One nut that could'a had that tyre off half a mile down the road. You're so distracted. Must be a woman and a half that's got you wrapped 'round her damned little finger." Bobby commented, his voice gruffer than usual. It wasn't unexpected considering Dean'd almost cost him valuable customers. They probably would think twice about going back there for repairs now.

"She wasn't anything special. No big deal," the Winchester shook his head, leant his chin on his open palm as he sat across from Bobby, and read the front page of the local paper. Following the words beneath the headline with his eyes and the index finger of his free hand, Dean read in his head as he chatted; half concentrating on both tasks at once.

"Nothing special...right. I s'pose that's why you've suddenly forgotten everything I've taught you over the last fifteen years, is it?" The crunch of lettuce made Dean wince and his gaze flickered up towards Bobby before he pushed away from the table and stood.

"Whatever, Bobby. Just forgot it, okay? I won't make any more mistakes." Dean strode back out into the workshop and spent the rest of the shift wondering who Cas' hands were touching while he was leaning beneath the hood of various cars.

After dinner that night, Dean began to feel the strain from the previous day's activities. His chest was heavy with guilt, though he had no clue why - it wasn't like Cas knew about his little one night stand and it didn't matter anyway. It wasn't like Dean had ever had those years when he could've explored his sexuality because there were certain expectations put on him by his dad.

Even though they didn't live in the same house after Mary died, John's influence never stopped being heavy on the older Winchester's shoulders, and decisions, and women were the only option. Women who were pretty and looked to be doing something with their lives.

He supposed that was part of the reason John hadn't let him dance after Mary died; because he was afraid he'd turn out to like boys - because that would be so bad in John's eyes. So fucking bad. And yet, Dean hadn't ever felt as fulfilled with any of the women he'd slept with as he did when Cas simply touched him. There was just something about the way the blue eyes didn't try to devour him when they fanned over his clothed skin - instead tried to provide as much confidence as possible.

Sam volunteered to do the dishes with Jess and Dean excused himself to the room he shared with his brother. As soon as the door was pushed to, the Winchester stripped off his jeans and socks and rolled the dark tights up his legs, shuffling his hips into them. It was odd, how homely they felt after only one day. Of course, he only felt half dressed without the shorts but they were in the wash so he went without as he slipped the soft pumps onto his feet and stood in the middle of the room.

A little music probably would've helped but all he had in his cassette collection were classic rock tunes - not exactly what he imagined would blend well with a light ballet warm up. So he'd have to dance to no music and run the risk of Sam thinking he might be possessed. Slowly, Dean tried to put his hips in the exact same position Cas had fixed them to the previous day but it was hard with no guiding hands on his waist.

All he had to do was align them relatively correctly and things would be fine. For a few minutes, he started and aborted before his hips seemed to fall into place. It was obvious the second he got it right because things felt good and Dean smiled to himself as he moved his arms to correspond with his feet in First Position.

The muscles in his thighs and calves ached but he pushed the pain to the back of his mind as he winced and lightly gritted his teeth, letting his brow crease. Things would get better with time, easier - that's what Cas'd said and Dean had no reason to think he was lying. So he continued, through the motions, until he'd run the course of everything Cas had taught him. A couple of times, he had to reach for balance on the dresser but apart from that, Dean's stance had been solid.

Dean only wished he could do more steps, put something together that would show how angry life had made him. But he was powerless to express himself at that point in time and that only served to frustrate him further. Not letting the thoughts eat him up inside too much, Dean simply went about warming up for the next hour, stretching and getting his body limber in all the ways Cas had shown him.

It was bittersweet when he sat down and stretched his legs out to either side of him. All he could see was a young Sam sitting opposite him, trying to touch toes with his older brother. The difference this time was that the innermost part of Dean's groin was pulled like a bitch and he groaned even before he got half the distance he used to be able to reach.

Pushing his body at this early stage would probably only end in an injury that would make him more uncomfortable working at the garage and he couldn't afford that, considering Bobby didn't seem to know he'd gone to the lesson yesterday. Nobody had mentioned it which was weird as he'd left a note, explaining.

"Hey Dean, I-oh," Sam's head appeared around the door and Dean cursed under his breath, swearing he shut the damn thing. Pulling his legs in and crossing them in front of him, the older Winchester laid his hands flat to his thighs and looked towards his brother as though he wasn't sat, looking like a complete idiot. "How'd it go yesterday?"

Obviously, quite so now, Sam'd been waiting to get him on his own before asking about the class. Dean simply pulled the corners of his mouth down and smeared his slightly damp hair from his forehead.

"Ah, y'know, alright. There were some really hot chicks there, man. Thighs with more hidden strength than yours and mine put together. Think Xenia Onatopp and you'll get the picture." Dean smirked but it dropped slightly as the memory of Cas touching those thighs sprang up so clearly. Sam crossed the room and sat down on his brother's bed.

"C'mon Dean, seriously. How was it?" He sounded genuinely curious and Dean sighed, lowering his face as fingers pulled through the hairs on the back of his neck.

"It was..." Dean paused. How was he supposed to express how he felt about the whole thing; from the way his heart had sped up at Cas' gentle touches, to how he'd almost walked out like a petulant child because he was being ignored. If he'd had more lessons, he would've told Sam through dance how he felt. "It felt good, y'know, made me feel-h-made me feel better about some stuff."

Stupidly, he'd almost mentioned Cas. There wasn't a reason to and there never would be. Ballet and his life here, with the garage, didn't need to mix. Not for a while anyway. Not until it became a stable aspect of him as a whole again.

"That's really great, Dean. I'm glad." It wasn't often that Dean caught a break and Sam was happy whenever he did. Working at the garage six, sometimes seven, days a week couldn't be easy and Sam's job was a piece of pie in comparison. "Are you gunna go again?"

Dean hummed, thinking it over. In his mind, of course, he'd already made his decision. Lifting his head, he looked up at his brother. "Yeah. I'm going for late classes tomorrow and Friday and then Sunday again if Bobby decides to cut down my hours like he threatened to today. Apparently, I've been 'distracted' - whatever the son of a bitch means by that." Dean threw up quotation fingers before letting them drop back into his lap, looking vaguely defeated.

Sam laughed and one side of his mouth pulled up, showing a few teeth before he pushed a hand through his hair. "If you ask me, he should give you Sundays off anyway. I'm sure he means well, Dean. Bobby just doesn't want you to lose a finger or worse, that's all."

The older Winchester supposed Sam was right and shrugged one shoulder a little as he tilted his head, considering.

It was as though Dean couldn't wait to get out the garage the next day and that feeling was foreign to him. Usually, it was the other way around and Dean didn't want to leave the workshop until way after hours, but knowing where he was to end up that evening was enough to have Dean's mind elsewhere as he drove home, showered and threw the duffel into the passenger side seat of the Impala.

As much as he would say he was there to check out Mr Turner's expertise, Dean couldn't hide the bounce in his step as the automatic doors opened for him and Charlie greeted him from behind the reception desk. Taking the stairs two at a time, and changing in record time once inside the locker room, Dean joined the class of only four others just a few minutes late.

The same, soothing music that'd been playing before caressed his ears and Dean felt the knots in his shoulders relax somewhat. The garage had been frustrating enough and then the thoughts of not being able to express himself in any kind of decent manner only added to the pile.

Just seeing Cas there though, at the front of the class, was enough. He was the same ethereal douchebag and Dean ran a finger over his top lip as he ducked his face, looking up through his long lashes as he approached the barre at the side of the room.

Halfway through a stretch that had Cas' ankle beside his head, he spotted Dean and smiled. Letting it down, he shook out and padded towards the Winchester with all the grace and elegance of an obvious professional. "Frustrating day?" His face screwed up lightly and those blues squinted as he waited for an answer.

Dean swallowed and laughed, self consciously. "No, not really." How rude of Cas to ask, or to simply assume that Dean would go into his feelings so easily.

With a skeptical tilt of his head, Cas hummed. "If you say so, though your shoulders tell an entirely different story."

"They're just sore from the other day. I practiced yesterday too. Jeez, what is this? The Spanish Inquisition?" Dean shot back, raising his chin in defense of his own words. Sure, Cas was right but how the fudge could he tell that just from one look? So many more excuses went through Dean's head but it was as though they didn't matter to Cas at all.

According to him, or so his next actions said, he didn't care about Dean's reasons for lying. 

"It'd be great to see you practicing those Positions without the use of the barre for the second half of the session. Do you think you can do that?" Cas asked, no nonsense; eyes fixed firmly on Dean's.

The Winchester nodded and started going through the motions, holding the barre as Cas watched. He looked impressed by the way Dean's hips weren't pushed either forward or back this time. Clearly he wasn't too taken on Cas touching him and had practiced getting it right somewhat naturally.

After a few minutes, Castiel moved away, directing the attention of the other students there towards himself. He spoke to them with a firm but gentle voice as they worked through something more complicated than Dean had seen or tried in his life. It was probably something he would be able to do, in time, but at that moment, a simple plié would more-than-likely do him more damage than good.

Dean continued with what he was doing for the next two hours, thinking Cas would tell him to join in with them once he'd sufficiently warmed up; but he didn't. Cas kept Dean by himself and didn't even glance over except to make sure he hadn't hurt himself any.

Noticing he had yet to release the barre, Cas left the others to their own devices a while later and practically skipped to Dean's side, silently. Of course, in such an open room, the Winchester couldn't help but see him approaching and caught a breath in his throat - a less than secret want of touch springing up again.

"You look confident enough to let go of that thing now," Cas pointed towards the support and Dean's fingers slipped away from it. "Show me your First Position, with arms." Cas' grace was almost intoxicating and Dean cleared his throat as his eyes flickered back and forth from the other's face to the mirrors lining the front wall. He caught his reflection as he moved his arms and couldn't help thinking they were the stiffest arms he'd ever seen.

Castiel frowned and his eyes tightened into a squint. "I know you can do better than that. And your hips are too far back. And your feet aren't nearly as angled as I've seen them before." He semi-circled Dean before directing him further into the middle of the room. When the Winchester didn't immediately follow, Castiel turned back to him and barked a quick order for Dean to approach.

Stubbornly, Dean just stared. He hated orders but, in that room, Cas was the boss. It wouldn't help Dean if the other held back because of a fear of hurt feelings between the pair of them. Reluctantly, the Winchester padded closer and Castiel's hands were immediately on him, turning, pushing, directing.

"Now, arms." Cas instructed once he'd sorted Dean's posture properly, a warm, open palm lingering on Dean's hip. Once again, the Winchester raised his arms and Cas sighed loudly against the back of his neck. Dean hadn't even realised the other had been standing so close and he barely hid a tremble that ran through his whole body, making his fingers twitch.

Then, before he knew what was happening, Cas' fingers were curling loosely around his own and Dean couldn't breathe. There was surely a lawsuit that he could file against this kind of thing; sexual harrassment, obviously. It would probably hold up if he complained but Cas seemed not to even notice the effect it was having because he was just pressing on joints, now standing in front of the Winchester.

"Try to be a little less robot and a little more human. I don't want A.I. in my class, I want to see you, Dean. I want to be able to feel you releasing the emotions of the day through your fingertips. Come on, let me feel it." Somewhere between talking and finishing his needleless acupuncture session on Dean's arms - to loosen them up - Cas'd taken the Winchester's hands in his own and was gripping fiercly.

"Dude, I'm not gunna-" Dean tried to pull away, feeling all-too-stifled. It wasn't that he didn't like human contact but it wasn't normally so personal, without being physical - like sex. He could do sex without a second thought within the first half hour of meeting a woman but simply holding hands was different. "Can you just let me-just, Cas, I'm not comfortable with this."

"That's what I've been waiting to hear." As though he'd won some kind of personal victory, Cas let Dean's hands drop and just looked him in the face, openly. "That's what's holding you back, stopping you from doing what they're doing."

Dean didn't understand. The lack of technique was what was holding him back; it had nothing to do with how willing he was. About to pull Cas up on the fact, the blue eyed dancer shook his head.

"Just go home, Dean. I'll see you on Friday and I expect to see some improvement." Clapping his hands together, letting the sound reverberate against the cavernous room, Cas backed up and retook his place as teacher.

Getting back to Bobby's, Dean sat in the Impala outside the house for a while. All he did was think. If Cas didn't want him at the classes, he could just say. It wasn't like they were friends and Dean didn't know anybody else there, aside from maybe Charlie - but she was only the girl behind the reception desk. He began to question the decision of taking up ballet again and leaned his head against the top of the steering wheel.

Dancing meant a lot and it'd taken more effort than Cas would probably ever know for the Winchester to start again. And there he was, sending him home like a child who wasn't worthy to be in the same room as the others because he wasn't good enough. Was that really how he saw Dean? It wouldn't be too much of a surprise but Dean hoped it wasn't like that because - for everything he had yet to learn - he was more than willing to try.

A quick rapping on the window startled Dean and he looked out the passenger side. Sam's face was peering at him, a frown written on his features. The older Winchester just took it as a sign and opened the door, following his brother then into the warmth of Bobby's house. Sam closed the front door behind them and rubbed his hands together, breathing on them.

"You're back a little early, everything okay?" He sounded concerned but Dean brushed it off with a smirk.

"Yeah, no, I just realised Dr Sexy was on tonight and I didn't wanna miss it." It was a poor excuse that Dean'd used so many times that Sam was beginning to think it might actually be true. The younger Winchester just nodded, miffed, and slowly sat down on the sofa; flicking the channel options on. He scrolled but couldn't find Dr Sexy at all.

By the time he stood to pull Dean up on the fact, the door to their bedroom was already shutting with a loud thud.


	8. Chapter 8

The rest of the week went so damn slowly and Dean cursed the hours he had to spend in the greasy workshop. Something substantial was changing inside him but the Winchester refused to acknowledge it outright. Every night, he couldn't wait to eat dinner so that he could disappear for a couple of hours and rehearse a bit.

Sam'd been taking all the dishwashing shifts and as much as Bobby tried to tell him that Dean had to pull his weight, Sam wouldn't stop. He wanted Dean to have as much time dancing as was physically possible. In fact, Sam had arranged to stay overnight at Jess' for a fortnight so that his brother didn't have to worry about being interrupted.

Of course, Dean just assumed that it was because Sam was building up to asking the girl to marry him; finally. By the time Friday evening rolled around, Dean's legs had begun to stretch more easily than before. His groin didn't ache quite as much and a plié might even be possible - but he didn't want to push it.

Pulling up in the carpark of the studio, Dean glanced around. There were a lot more spaces than he'd anticipated but it was six in the evening on a Friday night so maybe the other students had carpooled or something. Stepping out of the Impala, duffel slung over his shoulder, Dean followed the usual route, finding Castiel at the desk talking to Charlie.

It was weird that he'd never encountered the other man outside of the environment of the room where he taught. The air was completely different; his posture wasn't as tight yet still precise as he leaned, crossing his ankles. He was very animated as he and Charlie conversed and she laughed unabashedly. The sound stirred something in Dean and his fingers tightened around the bag's handle.

"Oh, hey Dean," Charlie was first to address him and Cas turned around, as if on cue - blue eyes a little dimmer in the softer artificial light of the reception area. Castiel hopped up onto the desk, leaned back on his hands and swung his legs gently as he watched Dean approach.

"Hey Charlie. Cas," the Winchester greeted them both but made sure to keep some distance between him and the pair. He felt like he'd interrupted something private and shifted his weight a little on the spot. "If you two were in the middle of something, I can-uh, I can go get changed and wait upstairs."

Cas ducked his chin to his chest and smiled before scratching at his temple with an index finger. "We were just discussing whether I should do part of the Nutcracker or Swan Lake for the Easter gala this year." It seemed too early to be thinking about things in April when it was only almost February but it would take months to think of, prepare and perfect a routine. "Which do you think I'd fit better, Dean? A black swan, sexy, sleek and majesty or a Nutcracker solider; wide eyed and rosy cheeked?"

The two very different images of Cas made Dean uncomfortable and he just scratched his head, pulling the corners of his mouth down as he shrugged. "I don't know. Up to you, I guess. I mean, it's not like what I say is gunna make any difference anyway."

A twinge of something crossed over Cas' face and he hummed, looking behind him briefly to Charlie; who seemed suddenly sympathetic. "I'll see you upstairs in a few." Cas' blue eyes didn't find Dean as the dancer spoke but Dean took it as a firm sign that he'd probably done something wrong.

"'Kay," Dean muttered, shooting Charlie a look; which was met with a tight smile. Clearly Castiel and and the girl were friends and Dean had now become the Big Bad Wolf.   
To make matters worse, after he'd changed, Dean entered the ballet room to find it empty aside from Cas.

"Rufus-Mr Turner-cancelled and Meg's sick so it's just the two of us. Is that alright with you?" Castiel asked from his crouched position by the stereo player in a corner of the room. He pushed a couple of buttons and slightly punchier, Italian Opera started to play through the speakers. Obviously Cas was a big fan of that kind of stuff.

Dean came to a stop in the middle of the room and waited. As demanding as Cas was sometimes, it all seemed to be for the betterment of Dean as a dancer and the Winchester appreciated that more than anything.

"Sure. I mean it's gunna be pretty boring, 'cause I'm not as down with the kids as you are, but we can give it a shot." The Winchester wasn't sure why he'd agreed because, while Cas made him feel more comfortable than anyone else ever had, he also made him feel the most uncomfortable he ever had. Especially when his sexuality was called into question.

Of course guys could like guys and girls. It wasn't as though that was against the law or unnatural but a lot of people figured it was worse than swinging one way or the other; simply to be stuck in the middle.

Shaking his head to push the thoughts of Cas' lean frame, and legs of a race horse, out of his mind, Dean shook out and trod the spot. Cas turned and stood, smiling at him as he came to a halt just in front of the Winchester. He then sat, stretched his legs out in front of him and gestured for Dean to do the same.

They mirrored one another in silence for a few moments; Dean trusting that whatever this was going to turn into would be best for him in the long-run.

"Have you ever played 'I Have Never', Dean?" Castiel's question caught Dean a little off-guard and the Winchester blanched, his jaw dropping a bit before he regained his senses and nodded.

"Course. Can't think of anyone who hasn't." Dean smirked and leaned back on his hands to steady himself, thinking the posture would make him seem superior in some small way.

Cas laughed. "Then you know the rules?" Dean nodded and the big toe on Cas' left foot flickered to touch Dean's through the soft pumps. A quiet understanding sparked between them and Dean felt oddly at ease as he blinked slowly towards the other man. "Good. Now, for part of the warm up, I want to know why you're not comfortable here. So we'll play 'I Have Never' but instead of drinking, you have to stretch your legs out to the your sides until you can't go any further, okay?"

To have the sense to put two and two together wouldn't have been so difficult but Dean'd missed the obvious direction the conversation was taking. His eyes dropped away from Castiel's and he pulled the hairs at the base of his skull - beneath the longer, thicker strands that flicked out around his ears. If they played this game, he'd have to tell Cas things and that would probably end badly, making him look emotionally constipated.

"Are you comfortable with that?" Weirdly enough, the way Cas' toe now rubbed the whole length of the curve in Dean's foot didn't offset any negative feelings and the Winchester nodded solidly at the question. "I'll go first. Okay. I have never smoked; cigarettes or otherwise."

Dean shook his head and smiled. "Me either."

"That's good to hear. Alright, how about..." Cas hummed, looking up at the ceiling as his gentle, constant touch continued to the other's foot. "I have never been the the movies by myself."

Again, Dean shook his head but this time he narrowed his eyes a little, dropped his head back and to the side. "Take it that means you've had a lot of girlfriends, huh?" Neither of their feet moved and Dean realised that, in asking that, Castiel could assume the same about him.

It was true that the older Winchester couldn't hold onto a girlfriend for more than a month, but Cas had a better disposition than he did so it was easier to imagine him going pretty steady with a single partner rather than many.

"It's 'I Have Never', Dean, not 'Twenty Questions' but I'll bite," shifting a little, Cas' gaze found the other's face. "I've had a few girlfriends, yes. None of significance though. None that I would seriously consider marrying." The answer was snippy and nothing else came afterwards, leaving the fact that Dean was the same in the dark. Castiel could've asked for Dean's relationship history but he didn't, and that spoke volumes about his character. "Alright, this should get those legs moving; I Have Never been afraid of snakes."

Damnit.

The near-silent scratching of material against wooden floorboards was all that could be heard as Dean shook his head in irritation. It was one thing that he'd never admitted to anyone but Sam - and then he'd sworn his brother to secrecy on the issue. Cas' face was curious but he said nothing to push Dean into explaining, so the Winchester didn't go into it.

"See, if you'd have said spiders, I wouldn't have moved. Those, I can deal with but snakes..." Dean mock shivered and Cas laughed lightly from across the gap. "Let's see now," tapping his chin, Dean thought for a moment before clicking and making a finger gun towards the other man. "I Have Never stretched my leg so far that my ankle touched my temple."

Sighing, Cas moved his legs to touch feet with Dean again. The Winchester would never admit it but he'd done that on purpose; picked on something Cas could so obviously do.

"You're cheating, Dean. That was unimaginative." As scolding as the statement was, both men couldn't help hearing the lacing of humour in the words. They continued this way for a long time, simply finding out small things about one another. Dean came to the horrific realisation that Cas had never seen a movie with Bruce Willis in and decided he'd have to remedy that at some point. Cas found out that Dean didn't eat too many vegetables and hadn't ever seen an Opera.

After an hour, things took a turn.

Chuckling, Dean looked down at himself. His legs were stretched close to his personal limits and Cas had had a string of victories over him that needed to stop. Jokingly, he glanced up at the other and drew in a breath; smirking.

"I Have Never kissed a man." It was off the cuff and he hadn't expected Cas' feet to move. But they did, ever so slightly, and their toes met once again. Only then, it had some weight attached and Dean instantly felt bad about passing the subject off as lightly as he had.

Castiel avoided his eyes for a long while and silence engulfed them, thick and heavy. Awkwardly, Dean rubbed a hand up and down his clothed thigh before realising what it looked like and stopped abruptly. The expression on Cas' face made everything worse. Dean'd never seen that look in his eyes before; that dull, flat refusal of acknowledgement.

"Cas, man, look-" Dean started, his face screwing up minutely as the other's legs sharply folded in an aborted motion. "Hey. I didn't mean it to sound like a joke." If he'd have known it was going to cause so much friction between them, Dean never would've bought it up at all.

"It's fine. I could've lied to you and not moved, that was my choice." Cas' hands tightened around his ankles, turning his knuckles almost white. Suddenly, things were different but Dean didn't want them to be. It wasn't like Cas'd come onto him or anything. Heck, the touching was to help with his posture - nothing unnecessary.

Dean leaned, trying to catch Cas' eye but he couldn't. "Maybe I should go. Just fyi though, I don't care if you dig chicks or dudes. In fact, I'm pretty proud to know considering we haven't known each other for even a week yet." Solidly, Dean pushed himself to his feet and ran a hand down the back of his thigh.

Damn, his ass was numb.

Something flashed across Castiel's face and Dean saw the other's Adam's Apple bob against the column of his throat. Maybe Cas hadn't planned on telling Dean the little fact that he wasn't 'straight' - whatever qualified for that these days - but, now that Dean knew, he hoped it wouldn't affect the classes. Heck, he could probably learn a thing or two about being himself from Cas.

"Being a guy or a girl has nothing to do with it. I see people for who they are, not their gender or their hair colour, eye colour, things like that. If someone I've dated identified as something else, I still would've dated them." It sounded a lot like Castiel was trying to justify himself but Dean'd already accepted him for whatever he felt.

"That's pretty rad," the Winchester huffed out a laugh and Cas followed with one of his own as he finally looked up, face flushed with obvious mortification and relief combined. "I wish more people could be as open-minded about crap like that as you are." Whether intentionally or not, Dean'd just let something slip that was close to him and he fell silent.

Cas picked up on it immediately and took a breath. "So do I but I don't think it'll ever happen, honestly. But, Dean," he rose then, so gracefully and ran tense fingers through his dark hair. "You can talk to me if you need someone."

"I'm not-" Dean laughed breathily again, though he wasn't sure how to continue. How could he claim not to have a smallest want for Cas when his body had reacted so obviously to the other's touches before? "I'm not gay, Cas."

"Well, neither am I."

The comeback was so blunt - but goodwilled - that Dean didn't know how to respond again. He wondered, honestly, what it felt like to be able to be so free with affection towards other people. Dean swallowed and pulled a hand down his face.

"So, uh, who's the dude making all this racket?" The tactful change of subject, that Dean was rather proud of, had Cas narrowing his eyes. Opera was obviously a big thing for him, being that he listened to it all the damn time - apparently - but the hard-repressed smile blooming onto Cas' face told the Winchester he could take the jibe.

"Josh Groban. He relaxes me because I can't understand what he's saying." Castiel turned and walked to the player. "It's hard to dance to songs with lyrics that could influence me. I want to feel how I feel, whether the song is about anger or pain or happiness. If the words are Italian or Spanish, French, I can interpret them however I want."

Dean could respect the hell out of an opinion like that and nodded at Cas from his place in the middle of the room. "You were dancing to him last Sunday, right? When we met." It sounded strange that they really hadn't known each other for very long and yet, they'd delved into some pretty personal stuff that evening.

Castiel nodded and pushed the eject button. The CD popped out and he plucked it up, opening the case before snapping the disc back into place. "I was, yes. I'm going to take a wild stab and say you don't like Opera." The arbitrary snort from across the room gave Cas all the evidence he needed and he bend to rummage in his bag for something else. "What kind of music do you like, Dean?"

This all sounded like it was getting a bit too familiar but, if they were going to be friends then hell, they needed to know things about the other's tastes, right? Dean took the bait as he stretched his arms loosely above his head.

"Ah, y'know, bit of Creedence, Zeppelin, Sabbath, AC/DC, and a couple'a Air Supply tunes but not all of 'em." He was quick to point out the last point before Cas' imagination ran to places it really shouldn't go. Cas took those bands to mind, knowing he didn't have anything close to Rock in his collection.

Thinking on the point, Cas straightened. "They all seem a little...well...loud. What do you use to relax, to warm up?"

Dean tried not to take the statement to heart as he answered after only a brief moment's thought. "Normally, I listen to all of them to relax. They drown out the world, y'know?" Realising he was getting in a bit deep, Dean wanted to stop but his brain hadn't quite caught up with his mouth. "I grew up listening to them when things went south so-"

Nodding, as though he understood - though how could he? - Cas collected three double CD cases into his hands and moved silently back to Dean, presenting them to him in a small gesture. "These should be a good place to start."

Tentatively, the Winchester reached out and took the boxes. He didn't have a player in the car so that was a big no-no. Maybe he could borrow Sam's cd player for a little while - as he wasn't going to need it, staying at Jess' and everything. Looking down at the cases, Dean noted that they were all male singers but none of them looked like they should have the voices he suspected they would. With his bands, the style was very obvious; eyeliner, big hair, sometimes leather, but these guys...

They just looked so ordinary. Maybe that was why Cas liked them so much.

"Thanks. I'll, uh, I'll give 'em a whirl." Dean tapped the CDs against the flat of his open palm and whetted his lips. The room was deathly silent now that the music had stopped and their combined breathing was so much more obvious. For all the comfort in the way they'd exchanged the objects - Dean's fingers missing Cas' by less than a hair's breadth - what'd transpired between them, concerning Cas' kissing men, could easily have been a made-up scenerio.

Usually, the Winchester wouldn't have been so comfortable but Cas wasn't there as a predator. This wasn't some club with alcohol and lights, smoke and veils, dark corners and disrespectful assholes. This was a safe space where it'd been made clear to Dean that he shouldn't be shy; that he should express what he was feeling, however bad it was.

"I meant what I said before, Dean, about calling me, if you wanted to talk or anything." It seemed as though the last words were tacked on for good measure, and that Cas only wanted to talk. Dean couldn't help thinking the other's tone was oddly intimate at that moment too, but nodded regardless. "Here," the dancer went and returned with a ball point pen and took hold of Dean's wrist.

Nobody had ever been so open and unafraid to touch Dean before and it was surprising. At school, when he was growing up, kids tended to avoid him because they thought he was bad luck after what happened with Mary. It was spread about that, if you got close to Dean Winchester, you were going to be cursed and die a premature death.

Kids could be so cruel.

Once the numbers were etched - quite literally etched - into the side of Dean's wrist, Cas lowered his grip and turned the pen between his fingers. "I guess that's it for today, unless you wanted to do anything else?"

Dean had wanted to try some new things but all he could do was stare down at the numbers on his skin. Someone was reaching out to him for the first time since Bobby, with a genuine kindness that wasn't about personal gain. It boggled his mind a little and he struggled for words in reply. Simply shaking his head, Dean slid the cases tightly between his clothed thighs and plucked the pen from Cas' hands.

Touching Cas' skin - clasping his digits around the other's wrist and turning it gently - wasn't all that different to touching anybody else's but the reaction Dean received was one he wouldn't forget in a long time. Cas made a noise akin to a strangled cat and tried to recoil. It was an odd sensation, considering, and Dean's eyes widened in apology.

"I was just gunna give you my number." They stared at each other, Dean taking in the blatant draining of colour from the other's cheeks. Was the prospect of exchanging cell phone numbers so daunting? What was Cas' problem? "Unless you don't want it. I get it."

"Dean, it's not-" Cas started but Dean was already pushing the pen back into his tense hands.

"S'okay. You don't have to explain." As neutral as the Winchester attempted to keep his expression and tone, it was probably obvious how confused and - yeah, he'd admit it - hurt he was. The words 'I'll call you' were hanging on Dean's tongue but he just couldn't force them out as his shoulders slumped forward and he turned, ducking his head as he left the room.

As the door closed, Cas let out the breath he'd been holding. He wasn't honestly sure when things had become so intense but, if Dean had written his number there, in such an obvious place, Meg would definitely have seen it; not something Castiel wanted to deal with right then. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mid-week update this week because I'm not entirely sure how I'm going to feel this weekend. So I hope you guys don't mind this being slightly early.

Dean knew he'd have to do it at some point but he couldn't figure out the best way to tell Cas that he wouldn't be going to the class that Sunday.

Because Jess' birthday was the same day as Dean's, and she'd been out of town visiting relatives, Sam had decided that they were going to throw a party for her on the upcoming Sunday. Of course, it would have to a surprise and a venue had to be sorted pretty quickly - which might not've turned out so well at such short notice if Sam wasn't friends with the owners of the local bar and grill. Gabriel ran the place with his younger sister, Anna, and was known to have a flare for throwing parties; surprise or otherwise.

The spread of the place was quite substantial, with a gazebo for a live band out the back, and it gave off a homely feel at night when the tiny lanterns and massive heated lamps, were lit. In the summer it was a picture and Dean could imagine Sam proposing to Jess under those lanterns one day. Maybe that was what the surprise was going to be; either that or Dean would have to play a stripper...again.

That was the kind of relationship he had with Jess though. He could turn up as a stripper and they'd just have a laugh about it.

"You waiting on a call?" Sam asked around his broccoli at dinner on Saturday evening and Dean scowled at him from the other end of the table. Apparently staring at a cell phone was weird behaviour these days.

"No," Dean answered back, shovelling a forkful of mashed potato into his mouth and dropping his utensils to the china plate before him.

"Just seems like you're trying to will that call back from Playboy or something." Sam commented and Bobby frowned into his beer. Dean rolled his eyes and pushed away from the table, grabbed his cell and flipped it open. He'd copied Cas' number into the directory as soon as he'd gotten back into the Impala so that it wouldn't be lost when he showered. 

Since the day before, and finding out that Sam was planning the party for Jess, the older Winchester had been dreading having to miss class. Despite Cas' strange behaviour before.

Things had really been going well and to break the fledgling routine he was trying to build for himself would be detrimental in more ways than one. "It's Playgirl, Samantha," Dean snorted as Bobby coughed loudly beside him. Clearly the subject wasn't one good enough for the older man's dining table. "But no, it's top secret, FBI stuff."

"I don't care if it's NWA, NBA, CIA, ADAA or ABC, you're doing dishes tonight, Dean Winchester. Sam's worked his lawyer fingers into farmer's hands for you and I think it's time you pull your weight around here." Bobby chimed and Dean glanced towards Sam.

He never wanted his little brother to be doing stuff for him, ever, but when Sam set his mind on a task, there wasn't a way to sway him. In that respect, he was way more like Dean than the older Winchester liked to think.

"I'll get right on that once I've made this call, 'kay Trunchbull?" Dean managed to sidestep the swatting hand from Bobby as he made his way out of the kitchen and up to the protection of his and Sam's room.

Looking down at the phone, Dean scrolled through the numbers and came to Cas'. They were still practically strangers and Cas wouldn't miss him. It was one class. Heck, he shouldn't even have to give any prior warning to not turning up but Dean wanted to. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Dean pushed the call button and put the phone to his ear.

It rang three times before someone answered. It wasn't Cas.

"Hello?" A woman's voice came through and Dean wasn't sure what to think. "Hello?" She repeated before a quiet shuffling was heard through the line. "This isn't funny anymore-"

"Who is it?" A familiar voice questioned in the back and Dean listened closer, not thinking to speak.

"Unknown Caller ID. I know you're there, I can hear you breathing, jackass." The woman's tone was snippy and it sounded as though she was well versed with this kind of thing.

"I can deal with it, Meg, it is my phone after all." Cas' quiet voice continued and Dean could almost see him holding out his firm hand for the device. There was more shuffling and suddenly they were connected by a phone call. "Hello?"

Cas' gravelly tone just wasn't the same through the cell and Dean didn't find anything mildly appealing about it in that moment; much prefering to hear it face to face.

"H-hey Cas,"Dean stuttered. What if Cas was with Meg? Actually with her. He hadn't seemed to put out the fact that he was single but Dean didn't want to get him in trouble - being the new (and yeah, he'd call himself attractive) guy in the class. "It's Dean. Winchester. From your ballet class."

Castiel laughed down the receiver and it almost seemed like the breath touched Dean's cheek. He blushed hotly and shifted uncomfortably on his comforter.

"I know who you are, Dean. And I've been waiting for you to call. I hoped you would so that I could apologise for yesterday. I didn't mean to seem weird about the phone number thing..." Cas trailed off and the line went dead for a couple of seconds before Dean picked up the slack, realising he wasn't saying anything.

"Hey, it's okay. I mean, I'm terrible at numbers anyways. I wouldn't want me writing on me either." Dean offered, stalling from the thing he'd actually called to talk about. He was good at that; stalling. "So, uh," he rubbed his forehead as stress lines began to appear, "I just wanted to call you to say that, um, I can't make it tomorrow."

The sentence came out quickly and Dean thought he'd jumbled up his words until Cas hummed.

"I'm sure your caligraphy is perfectly fine and, although I'd like to have begun teaching you a little about pirouetting, it was good of you to tell me you'll be absent." A loud crash, followed by smashing erupted through the receiver and then the line was dead and Dean got the flat dialtone.

"Cas..?" As much as he wanted to hang up on his end, Dean couldn't. That'd been a very odd phone call and, as much as he wanted to call back and check on Cas, that would seem weird. Shaking his head, Dean lowered the cell and snapped it closed before tossing it onto his pillow and flopping down after it. He stretched out and crossed his ankles, staring up at the ceiling.

Maybe Meg and Cas were together and she was pissed at him for getting a call from another guy. Not even knowing it, Dean drifted into a fitful sleep as he thought about Cas.

_The lyrics to 'Carry on my Wayward Son' blared out from the speakers as a younger Dean shouted them out of the open window of Mary's car. In a flash, shrapnel and glass scattered between them and everything went black._

_Dean sat at the kitchen table and watched as John shouted at Mary, even lifting a hand to strike her. He could see a younger version of himself sitting at the top of the stairs, holding Sam close as their fingers clutched to the beams of wood between the banisters._

_Dean stared at himself and wondered why he wasn't moving. It was so obvious what his dad was doing but the boy lacked the courage Dean had now; as a man. He should beat the living shit out of John for the crap he did to Mary but then he'd be just as bad._

_Blinking, thirty-one year old Dean was stuck in the upside down car beside the lifeless body of his mom. The music carried on blaring and something like an electric razor buzzed against the side of his face. Dean lifted a hand, feeling like it was a miracle that he could pay attention to anything but the staring, dead eyes of Mary beside him._

_There it was again; the buzzing._

_"_ _It's your fault, Dean," Mary's voice was accusatory as her neck cracked and she looked directly at him. The music continued. And the buzzing. Though it was moving down his face now, to his lips. They were numb before he could even reply and Mary went on blaming him until Dean squeezed his eyes closed and opened them again with a start._

He sat bolt upright, breathing heavily.

Just a nightmare.

Thank God.

The buzzing was his phone, which lit up with Cas' number as the Winchester pushed the sweaty hair from his forehead and tried to steady his breathing before he flipped the phone open and held it to his ear. “Yeah?” Dean's hand trembled and he pinched the bridge of his nose against the shock of the dream.

“Hello, Dean.” Cas' voice sounded raw. Dean checked his watch.

“Dude, it’s almost midnight. Shouldn’t you be counting sheep by now?” The Winchester rubbed his eyes as best he could before he yawned.

Cas laughed roughly and, again, Dean almost felt his breath through the device. “I’m not twelve, Dean. I have stayed awake longer than this before without being bad-tempered in the morning.” Some shuffling came through on the line and Dean yawned again, not bothering to cover his mouth. “It sounds like someone else should be counting sheep right now, hypocrite.”

“Is there a point to this call, Cas?” Dean dragged himself up and shakily, but as quietly as he could, made his way down to the kitchen for a glass of water. Doing everything one handed was tricky but the Winchester managed it pretty well. The floor was cold through the hole in the heel of his sock as he padded about, gathering some snacks to take back to bed with him.

"Oh," the sound was very abrupt, as though Cas had been bought crashing back to reality all too quickly. The way they'd just been ping-ponging jibes at one another had felt so natural. "I, uh, I wanted to apologise for earlier. Meg-"

Dean interrupted as he picked up on the ring of soreness in Cas' tone. "Don't worry about it. Duty calls sometimes, right?" Grabbing the full glass, having not planned the transportation of the snacks as well, Dean balanced the phone precariously against his shoulder as he made his way out of the kitchen and up the stairs, to his and Sam’s room.

Sam, of course, was fast asleep; his limbs tucked in close beneath the small comforter. Dean stopped to question the fact for a moment before continuing; because his brother was supposed to be sleeping at Jess'. He hoped they hadn't had a fight. Luckily the door wasn’t closed or Dean might’ve had a problem. Crossing the room, he placed the glass, and snacks, down and slipped the phone from against his shoulder into his hand.

“Dean?” Cas’ voice was quiet.

Treading back across the room, Dean closed the door gently and turned again, heading for his bed. Stubbing his toe on the wooden frame of Sam’s bunk, the older Winchester had to hold in the cussing for the sake of all parties present - even Cas.

“Are you alright?” The question was quite serious.

Dean hobbled to his bed and slipped into it, pulling the comforter over him and beating the pillow with his free hand, before he got comfortable. “Just stubbed my toe is all, no biggie, I’ll live.” He murmured into the darkness of the room. At that moment, Dean felt thoroughly odd. This was something couples did but...he was talking to Cas and not a woman. It shouldn’t be awkward though, they were friends, right? Friends did this all the time. So long as they didn’t start discussing what they were wearing, then it would be just peachy.

“I'm glad.” Cas’ words were sincere and Dean smiled, genuinely. He liked Cas. He was a good friend, already.

Dean swallowed and his breath hitched. There was silence for a long minute after that and Dean’s smile dropped a little. “Cas?” He whispered into the room.

Cas was silent on the other line, not even breathing for the longest time. “I’m here, Dean, but it’s getting late. I'll miss you at class.” He sounded like seeing Dean would've been the best part of his day and the older Winchester couldn’t help the slight flutter of his chest at the fact.

“Yeah. Me too...” Dean assumed that would be the end of the conversation and shifted.

“Dean...” Came the small voice on the other end of the line. It was unlike Dean had ever heard Cas before, sounding very unsure of himself; like he was super nervous.

Dean sniffed lightly. “Yeah, Cas?”

"I need to talk to someone. Are you alright to listen for a while?" The words barely made it out before Dean was sitting prone, legs crossed beneath him; as though Cas was directly across from him, face to face. He sounded desperate too, on the verge of tears and Dean knew that this conversation was one better had with an old friend - not a new one. His hesitation was so obvious, and Cas drawing in a breath grated on his nerves. "It was foolish to ask, I'm sorry."

"No. It's fine. I just, I think it's something you should talk to with someone you've known for a little longer, that's all. If it's personal then maybe I'm not the best guy to listen." A lame excuse that made Dean feel like the worst friend in the universe.

Cas sighed. "I understand. Though, I thought of you first because you're not going to have a bias against me like most of Meg's friends do. We, uh, we had a fight after you called and - let's just say - now we have no dishes left in the apartment. I shouldn't have called this late."

It'd be a real dick move if Dean just said his usual bull about it being nothing to do with him and ended the call. He'd done that before a couple of times and the backlash had taught him to be more sensitive towards people who were going through break-ups. Before he could stop himself, Dean did something he never did.

"Talking about this over the phone isn't gonna help. Do you wanna meet up at Trickster's in town and we can get a pint and mull it over?" It sounded so horribly like a date and Dean cringed at his obviousness. He'd just woken up from one of the recurring dreams that usually left him paralyzed with fear and regret and yet, there he was offering to drive into town and listen to Cas' problems.

As long as he didn't have to share his own, things would be fine.

"I don't want to be a burden..." Cas replied quickly but Dean could already hear what sounded like keys being gathered up and stuffed into a coat pocket.

"Nah, you're not. It's what friends're for, right? I mean, heck, I haven't even met Meg properly but she sounds like a bit of a bitch if you ask me." Roughly pulling on his boots, forgetting about the laces, Dean trod as lightly as he could down the staircase, grabbed his jacket and plucked up the keys to the Impala from the coral bowl Bobby kept just inside the front door.

The drive went by in a flash and Dean barely realised what he was doing until the engine was off and he was sat outside Trickster's Bar and Grill. He had no clue what kind of car Cas had so it would have to be a guessing game. In the lot there were Mustangs, Corsas and a couple of Quadbikes. Dean doubted, very highly, that Cas would ride anything like that - especially if it put his limbs in danger of being mangled.

However, as soon as a midnight blue Harley Davison pulled up across the lot, Dean had a strange feeling it was Cas; even though he really didn't seem the type. Something about the way the rider kicked down the stand, leaned the machine and then dismounted, though, seemed so very Cas. Dean watched as the thick gloves came off one by one and then the helmet.

Cas shook out the feeling of tightness against his temples and cleared his throat. The arguement with Meg had been one of the worst and the small apartment they shared might just end up hers by that Monday. Gathering together his gear, stuffing the gloves into his helmet, Cas turned away from his bike and glanced around the parking lot.

He didn't know what car Dean owned so he waited, leaning lightly against the body of the Harley. Whether Dean would show or not hadn't even crossed his mind but, as minutes passed, the fact began to dawn that they really hadn't known one another for very long at all. It wouldn't be a massive surprise if he was left hanging, high and dry.

"Hey Cas," Dean's voice traveled before his body as he jogged towards the other, hands deep in his jean pockets. Cas' face rose and a light, tentative, but relieved smile broke onto his tight lips. "Sweet ride."

Dean couldn't help taking a closer look at the bike as he approached, leaning a little to test the tyres and touch along the paintwork. It was nothing if not perfectly tended and suddenly, the Winchester's own apparent obsession - so Sam called it - of keeping the Impala clean didn't seem quite so serious.

They both liked to look after things; nothing wrong with that.

"Hello Dean," Cas answered, his voice just as timid as his smile. It was obvious by the way it cracked that the fight with Meg had been particularly bad. Dean'd experienced aftermath much the same with his parents on too many ocassions to keep note of so he could understand Cas' unwillingness for conversation. Nevertheless, Cas' eyes watched Dean attentively as he moved around, poking and prodding like he was deliberately trying to find fault with the vehicle. "I took her for a service a couple of weeks ago and she passed with flying colours, Dean. I'm confident you won't find anything wrong with her. Machines're easy that way."

The similarity in their thinking almost struck Dean as profound but he guessed a lot of people were probably the same. "Yeah," the Winchester's shiver was hardly noticable but Cas picked up on it as he pushed away from the bike and directed Dean towards the building.

Cas let Dean in first, being that this was his idea, and took in the warmth and aroma of alcohol and leftover fried food. Several of the patrons at the bar threw up a hand towards Dean and he replied in kind as he led Cas to one of the booths near the back of the place. A guy and a woman, probably a good few years younger than Dean and himself, pulled drinks while a couple of waitresses weaved through tables with trays lines with glasses; empty and full.

Usually, Dean would've attempted to catch Anna's attention but, this time, he wanted anyone else to serve them. Plucking out a drinks menu, he slid it across the table towards Cas and sat back in the booth, stretching out a little.

"I assume you come here often, people seem to know you." Cas pointed out, very matter-of-factly, and the Winchester shrugged. The fact that he didn't even have to look at the menu to know what he would drink was another big tell.

"We've known Gabe for years now. He's like that annoying as crap older brother you don't want anyone to know you're related to." As he spoke, Dean shifted to take off his jacket. The inside of Tricksters was always very warm because it was popular and not as big as it looked from the outside. Of course, to Gabriel, who was significantly shorter than Dean, it was probably a heck of a lot bigger. Folding the leather coat over and stuffing it into the corner of the booth, Dean looked to Cas to follow suit but he didn't.

The dancer just stared at the menu, his eyes unfocused as far as Dean could see. "Cas..?" Pulling a hand through his hair, Dean leaned forward, gently edging the top of the laminated paper down to engage the other's attention. Along with that action, he moved one booted foot under the table and it touched Cas'. Blue eyes rose, rimmed pink with effort. "Damn, you need a special brew. I'll be right back, 'kay?"

Tapping a flat palm to the top of the table, the Winchester rose quickly and crossed the crowded room to the bar. Leaning on it, he kept his gaze, more than half the time, on Cas as Anna shook together some exotic cocktails.

"Anna, if you don't mind, could I get two double tequilas with your strongest couple'a whiskies and a pitcher of Purple Nurple?" The order rolled from Dean's tongue more naturally than most things and Anna just smiled, horribly knowingly, as she prepared the drinks.

It cost an arm and a leg but Dean didn't mind because it could prove to be just the ticket for getting Cas back in the game after such a shock. Weaving through the small, round tables, using some of his natural agility, Dean placed the tray back on the table in front of Cas and slid into the booth, opposite him.

The Winchester mixed the concoction and swirled it haphazardly, making sure none spilled. "Drink up, buddy. It'll do you good, believe me." Hearing and seeing the encouragement, Cas slowly reached out to take the glass from the other man. He didn't often drink so this would be a new experience. Scorching a hot trail down his throat, Cas coughed and covered his mouth as he scrunched his eyes tightly closed against the sting.

A pleasant enough aftertaste caught on the dancer's tongue though and he looked to Dean, who was grinning. "Pretty good, huh?" The Winchester asked through his breathy laugh.

Cas' cheeks glowed rosy as he continued to cough.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been so bogged down with uni work recently that it slipped my mind about posting. Okay, sorry about the wait! Thanks for all the comments too :) 
> 
> PS, I'm getting closer and closer to reaching the point where I have no chapters written prior to posting so just bear with me if I happen to drop off the radar for a couple of weeks. It'll just be because I'm writing more and want to be able to post regularly for you guys.
> 
> Wow 2:52AM is a killer @-@ sorry if there are mistakes.

An hour - and a lot more alcohol - later, Castiel's posture wasn't anything close to its usual elegance. He slouched and rested his head to the side on a flat palm. They hadn't honestly said much to one another and Dean figured it was a bad thing because they were there to talk about Cas' fight with Meg. The fact that he hadn't even taken off his jacket didn't slip past the Winchester.

"You're looking a little tipsy there, Cas," Dean gestured to the other's cheeks and Cas quickly turned his head to gaze at his reflection in the mirror that lined the wall of the booth. His reaction to seeing the rosy colouring across his face had Dean's brows rising and his green eyes softening.

Cas looked mortified like he was ashamed to have been pushed so far by something so inconsequential as an argument with Meg. The truth was that they fought so much more than he'd have liked about stupid, small things that weren't important - so much so that Cas was convinced she didn't actually like him at all. Turning his face away, staring down at the table, Cas said nothing for the longest time and Dean wasn't sure if he'd fallen asleep or something. "Cas?" Dean's voice was close and the dancer's eyes flickered to see him leaning across the table gingerly.

"I've always been told I have too much heart." The statement was small and very serious as Cas sat back and sighed, rubbing his hands roughly through his hair. All Dean knew for sure was that they'd both suffer the next day. He didn't know how he was supposed to survive Jess' party. Puzzling through the warm haze of alcohol which, before Dean realised, had put him over the drink-drive limit, the Winchester scrunched up his face and puffed out a breath. Too much heart could be a problem but Cas seemed capable of telling who was good enough to get close to and who wasn't.

Then again, Dean wasn't good at all...

"Better than letting nobody close to you," the Winchester answered, very honestly, swirling the dregs of a double whiskey in the bottom of his glass as he spoke, eyes glued to it instead of looking to Cas. He felt so fucking hypocritical.

"Is it?" Those two words, coming from Cas - who, at that moment looked so horrible destroyed - made Dean question his own philosophy on relationships. People got hurt, sure, but there had to be someone out there who would care more for him than they did for themselves, right?

"Sure. I mean, my mom taught me that the opposite of love is indifference, not hate and pain. At least Meg doesn't just ignore you, pretend you don't exist." Dean's reply shocked even him and the Winchester downed the alcohol in a single mouthful. It barely phased him at all. The fact that he'd expressed just how John felt towards both him and Sam hung in the air like a stench and he cleared his throat, trying to move past it. "At least she didn't pawn you off to somebody else because she couldn't stand to look at you anymore."

Cas' gaze was heavy on Dean then, acute despite the alcohol. "You sound like you're talking from experience." His comment was tentative but Dean didn't flare up as he usually would. Instead, he just sighed and excused himself to the bathroom.

Splashing water on his face, Dean stared at himself in the mirror. What the hell was he doing? This was Cas' time, Cas' problems that should be coming to the surface, not his own. He decided, then and there, that nothing else about his life would mysteriously slip out - no matter how drunk he got.

Leaving the bathroom, he found Gabriel sitting in his spot and clenched his jaw. That wasn't a good thing. Shuffling up, Dean slipped his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

"Ahhh, here's loverboy." Gabriel teased as he grinned up towards Dean, tight lipped and so innocent looking. The Winchester was in a constant state of wanting to punch Gabriel in that face but he never had, thankfully. It was either Trickster's or the Roadhouse and Dean refused to go there because Ellen, its owner, was with his dad.

"Loverboy?" Castiel and Dean asked in unison and then gave one another a look. Gabe, of course, had been questioning Dean's sexuality for years because of the length of his hair and the way his lips were apparently puckered a lot of the time. Dean couldn't help it if he had full, pink, princess lips, like Mary'd had.

"Yeah," Gabe elongated the response and slid out of the booth, facing Dean. "I've seen the way you've been sharing drinks and saucy glances all night. Just admit it, Deano, you're as bent as a three-dollar bill." The cheeky wink and click of teeth had Dean clenching his hands by his sides and his back went rigid. Gabriel sure did like to pick his moments.

With a sweeping, fluid motion, Gabriel left them alone, scooping up a couple of glasses from a nearby table as he went.

"Asshole," Dean murmured after him, avoiding Cas' gaze like the plague as he sat back down; making sure not to touch knees under the small table. "Sorry about him. Gabe just thinks the whole world's humour evolved from his. Don't take any notice."

"Did he think we were together?" Castiel asked, despite Dean's comments. It was as though hearing something like that didn't seem so bad. And that worried the crap out of Dean, in all honesty.

"Probably. But then, like I said, he likes to joke." A bitterness twinged Dean's voice and he finally managed to push his gaze up to look at the man across from him. Cas no longer looked as put out as he had before, as though the thought of the implication put him slightly at ease. At the Winchester's response though, Cas' expression faltered and he frowned.

Was it such a massive joke?

"Meg thought the same thing because we spent that one-on-one session together." An incredulous laugh passed Cas' lips as he raised his glass and took a small sip, almost flinching against the strength of whatever was mixed together and coursing through him. He tilted his head and shrugged, placing it back down gently. "She's nice enough sometimes but, there've been moments when I thought she might improve her aim with those plates."

The confession had Dean's jaw dropping slack and his brows furrowed. Cas was a lean guy but he had muscle in his arms, torso and legs enough to defend himself pretty easily. From what Dean'd seen of Meg, she was skinny as all hell so he doubted her throwing abilities were anything close to what they could be. Whether it was subconscious or not, Cas wrung his hands together. 

Dean swallowed and bit the inside of his cheek, fixing his gaze hard on Cas. "Sounds like a match made in Heaven." The Winchester's sarcasm ran thick and he frowned. "How long've you guys been together?"

"On and off for a few years now. She moved here with me five months ago after we lost our apartment in New York." Cas gave no more detail than that, which annoyed the crap out of Dean. It wasn't that he was fishing for details or gossip but knowing some more of the story might've helped Dean to understand the situation more clearly. "I don't know if I can talk about this right now, Dean. She just-she helped me a lot when I wasn't on the top of my game."

About to answer, Gabriel's hands slapped onto the tabletop and Dean's narrowed his eyes. Just when they were starting to get somewhere. "What is it, asshat?"

"Well, in case you hadn't checked your sun dial, it's almost three in the morning. Closing time, Deano." Nudging Dean's shoulder, Gabriel clicked his teeth at the Winchester again, and shot him finger guns. "But, I'm thinking you and your boyfriend can crash upstairs as long as you're gone before I'm up in the morning." Returning to the bar to clean the last few glasses, Gabriel left Dean no time to clout him upside the head for his comments.

Cas looked tired and Dean knew they were both far too drunk to drive anywhere. Gathering his coat in a bundle and holding it close to his chest, the Winchester moved to stand and leaned on the side of the leather seat for support. His head was swimming with the heat of the place and the lights were suddenly a lot brighter than he remembered them being a moment ago.

"Dean, careful," Castiel had his helmet and gloves under one arm and he reached out to take hold of Dean's arm to steady himself and the other. The vague colouring across his face deepened as Dean clapped a hand to his shoulder and turned, starting to move towards the door, leading up to the living quarters above Trickster's. They both stumbled and laughed at the steepness of the ascent but made it to the top in good time.

Anna was milling between rooms, cleaning her teeth, in her dressing gown. It was beige satin with embroidered birds scattered around it in blues and greens. To Dean, she'd always been the butterfly that wouldn't be caught by anyone, the moth that wasn't attracted to his flame. He'd gotten close once but she'd backed out at the last minute; probably a good thing considering they'd have been bumping uglies unprotected. But that was years in the past, quite forgotten for the most part.

"You boys look gorgeous," she laughed and grinned around her toothbrush. Dean winked at her, giving a sloppy smirk as he held Cas against him, stopping the other from actually falling backwards down the steps. A compliment was edging its way through the alcohol in Dean's mind but, before it could formulate properly, two hands slapped hard against his haunches.

The contact was surprising and Dean jumped a little, swallowing down a startled yelp as he brought Cas tighter to his side in fear of dropping him.

"I think he might be into you, Dean." Cas joked and Dean sighed, half dragging him into the spare room to the left of the landing.

"G'night lovebirds." Gabriel chimed.

"Shuttup, Gabe." Dean shouted back before he kicked the door closed behind him.

Gabriel's spare room was almost as familiar to Dean as his own room back at Bobby's. He'd spent more than his fair share of nights there in the past but this one would be different; mostly because it wasn't Sam dropping him onto the bed, tucking him in and then sitting with him to make sure he didn't choke on this own vomit.

This time, it was Dean hauling Cas to the dingy cot and maneuvering him carefully down, taking his helmet and letting it rest on the bedside cabinet. This time, it was the older Winchester crouching, unlacing Cas' boots and easing them off as the other watched him silently with heavy eyes. This time differed in more ways than Dean could tell but the most obvious one was the fact that, as Dean's face turned down to concentrate on lining up Cas' boots under the edge of the metal bed frame, fingers tentatively threaded across the hairs by his ear, tucking the longer bangs back.

It was probably a natural reaction for Cas to want to thank someone who'd been kind to him but Dean's spine tightened into a rigid line at the contact. The darkness was broken by a single sliver of light that shone in from the street outside and it was usually comforting. Now though, it made Dean wary. It caused him to think the experience was horribly public all of a sudden.

"Cas..." Dean whispered, not leaning into or moving away from the touch. "We barely know each other and I'm not-"

"Not gay, I know." Castiel sighed heavily, resigned to the fact. "If I was a woman, getting to know me probably wouldn't even matter. But Dean," the touch fell to catch the Winchester's jaw and raised his head, "I'm not even thinking about sex. Just to have someone care about me right now is enough."

Chastising his brain for skipping several essential steps in the process of getting to know someone, Dean caught his breath and his frame softened, realising closeness didn't always have to involve the physical aspect of a relationship. He couldn't even act offended by Cas' assumption that if the other was a woman, Dean would've hit on him already because it was entirely true.

Instead, Dean just puffed out a laugh and smiled honestly against tight lips before he stood and moved to the window to close the curtains fully. Plunging the room into darkness, Dean could only make out Cas' form barely as the other groaned and dropped back against the pillows.

"I feel so stupid, Dean. I'm sorry. I'm a despicable person. If I was better, Meg wouldn't have reason to complain." Hearing Cas talk that way made Dean frown, especially as he could hear the edge of the other's voice cracking.

"Just try and get some sleep, Cas, 'kay? Everything'll be better in the morning." It wasn't much of a philosophy and it didn't often ring true but Mary had always said it to Dean whenever he was feeling bad about himself so the Winchester figured he'd pass on the sentiment.

Dean settled into the armchair across the room from the bed and watched Cas for a while before falling asleep himself.

Hours later, Dean woke up alone, shivering and knowing he'd be nursing a partial hangover for the day. Cas wasn't on the bed but Dean could hear movement and stretched, moaning lightly as his back protested. A steaming mug of coffee appeared on the small, round table beside him and Cas followed it with one of his own, sitting on the bed and watching Dean; taking several quick sips as he did so.

Cas' hair was dishevelled and the bags beneath his eyes were heavy like trenches etched into his skin. He cradled the steaming cup to his chest like his life depended on it and rubbed at his blue eyes with a lazy hand after a few moments of silence.

"Gabriel was very nice to me when I walked in on him in the bathroom this morning." Were the first words Cas came out with and Dean's eyes widened suddenly. He could only imagine what Gabe'd said or done and thinking about it didn't make the Winchester feel good at all. "Don't worry, Dean, nothing untoward went on." Cas' smile was small but reassuring and he took a deep drink of the tea.

Dean couldn't help watching the swallow of the other's Adam's Apple with slightly parted lips. He didn't mean to stare, it just happened. And then he caught himself and reached for his own mug, wrapping his fingers tightly around the handle and bringing it into his lap.

Only then did Dean notice that a blanket covered him. A confused expression took over his features and his gaze shot up to Cas - who shrugged gently.

"You looked cold and uncomfortable but I didn't want to wake you up to move you so..." Dean wasn't used to people being nice to him and he smirked, feeling like an idiot. Throwing off the blanket, the Winchester pushed himself up and checked his watch. It was almost noon and Gabe was definitely up. "I heard Gabriel mention they're having a party here tonight. He asked me to help prepare for it and I agreed but I'll have to leave for the class before it starts."

Of course, it was Jess' surprise, late birthday party. Dean had told Sam he'd be going and Cas knew that. "Could always just cancel and come to the party." Dean offered, sitting forward in the chair and looking down to find his boots removed and stashed oddly close to Cas' under the bed.

Castiel laughed and shook his head. "I have a responsibility towards Mr Turner. I can't do that, no matter how bad I'm feeling." The resilience in Cas astounded Dean and, in that moment, all the Winchester honestly wanted to do was lean across the gap, take the other's hand in his own and reassure him that people were allowed to have bad days. Heck Dean had enough of them. "Besides, I'm not invited."

"You could be," Dean replied, almost too eagerly, and then reigned himself in again, taking a long drink from his mug. The coffee was just cool enough not to burn his upper lip - which he was thankful for. He barely knew Cas and there he was, inviting him to Jess' birthday party. "See, it's for the girl my brother's dating so the offer's on the table if you change your mind about the class today."

The words hung in the air and all Cas did was squint for a moment before standing and moving out of the the room. It was the oddest reaction to something Dean'd seen since he showed Bobby 'Two Girls, One Cup' - and even then the older man hadn't immediately left the room, probably out of morbid curiosity.

Finishing up his coffee, which was one of the better cups he'd had in a while, Dean took the mug with him down to the bar. People were already ordering meals and drinking and the smell had Dean's gut clenching. Even thinking about eating was too much after so much alcohol. It still swilled in his belly, making him gassy.

"Bite the head off too many bats last night, Ozzy?" Gabriel's too annoying, too rich, too sarcastic voice caught up with Dean as he approached the bar. As a result, the Winchester purposely slammed the mug down and felt no regrets for the looks he received from several patrons at tables. "Hey, watch it, Archer, that's the good ceramics." Snatching the cup away, Gabe stuck it in the tub with the other dirties. "Oh, btw - that means by the way, by the way - your boyfriend's got a really great front bottom."

Luckily for Gabriel there was a countertop between them or Dean would've given him at least a black eye for the comment. The blonde haired, whiskey eyed little runt seemed to have no social filter at all and, when he did, it was only ever when the conversations ran towards Anna. It was no secret that she and Dean'd had almost had sex in the backseat of the Impala - a fact that Gabe resented him for. That particular emotion, coming from Gabriel, played itself out through sarcasm, much the same way it did with Dean.

Glaring at Gabriel, Dean narrowed his eyes and his fist visibly clenched on the bar. "Well, so does Anna." It was a childish comment but Dean wasn't below acting like a petulant teen, especially when it came to teaching the barman not to tease him.

"I do what?" Anna came through the double swing doors, her arms full of country and western style decorations for the party and pawned them off to Dean. Cas followed her in, carrying much the same thing. Had they been talking? A questioning brow raised on Dean's forehead as he locked eyes with Cas. "I do what, Dean?"

"N-nothing-what? I didn't say anything." The Winchester tossed his head to clear the longer bangs from his eyes and shifted away from the bar.

Being in such a vulnerable position, Dean was practically at Gabriel's mercy. He'd have shot the other a glare that threatened a good thrashing if he so much uttered a word of their conversation to Anna - or Cas come to think of it - but Dean couldn't stop staring at Castiel. He looked so strangely domestic out of his natural environment and position of power.

"Anna told me she needed two 'strong guys' to put these up around the decking outside. I think she meant us Dean. Best come help me before you dig yourself into an even deeper hole." Without further explanation, Cas turned and headed for the doors to the back of Trickster's. It was a beer garden type exterior with a mixture of grass and decking, as well as a smoking area of concrete at the far end. A light coloured wooden bandstand stood to one side with a clearly marked path of slate stepping stones.

It would look great when the small twinkling lights that hung around the beams were lit that evening. Needless to say, Dean just smirked and followed Cas out. Preparation for the party went smoothly and Dean and Cas were both tired by the time Sam arrived at three to check everything was ready.

Cas sat in the booth he'd shared with Dean the night before and nursed a glass of ice water while the older Winchester took a quick shower to freshen up. Heaven knew what possessed Gabe to say yes to the request but miracles did happen on occasion.

Overhearing a taller guy in a plaid shirt and jeans mention the party, Castiel wondered if that was Dean's brother. The resemblance between their hair at least seemed familiar but the features were somewhat different. Dean's lips were fuller - Cas felt himself blush at the thought that he'd looked at them first - and he was undoubtedly considered to be more conventionally handsome but this guy's jaw was just as prominent and the low set of his brow made him look just as serious as his brother did at times. Yet, when Gabriel cracked a joke, the expression couldn't have been more different to Dean's and Cas wondered, indeed, if they were related at all.

The smile was inviting and showed off a row of straight, white teeth that'd probably had years of painful nurturing behind a retainer. More importantly though, and this was the big difference between the pair, Dean's smiles barely ever touched his eyes. Cas wondered why but thought it rude to pry into other people's lives. Maybe he'd somehow worm it out of Dean at another of their experimental one-on-one classes - now that Meg wouldn't be able to blow up about it afterwards.

Dean came down the stairs like a shot, drying his hair with a small towel, and threw an arm around the taller guy's shoulder before pulling him down into an obviously playful headlock. It was clear then; they were brothers. Cas wished he could be like that with his own family but there were just too many clashing opinions for them to ever spend much time in the same room nowadays.

Without even realising it, Cas'd been staring at the pair of Winchesters from across the room.

"Who's that guy, Dean? He seems pretty...intense." Sam questioned, fixing his mussed hair once Dean released him from the headlock. Dean follow his brother's loose gesture and spotted Cas. He was staring almost unsettlingly at them.

"He helped put up the decos for tonight but I didn't catch his name. I've just been calling him loverboy because he has a huge-" Gabriel cut himself off as Dean gave him a death glare. The barman smirked and looked to Sam, plastering an innocent as crap smile onto his face, "-talent for hanging little hearts from wooden beams out back. You should check 'em out, buddy, and leave Attila the Hunk here to make goo-goo eyes at Mr Tall, Dark and Handsome all evening."

Sam's attention exchanged between his brother and the dark-haired guy across the room for a silent moment before he barked out a laugh and ducked away from Dean's arm around his shoulders. "I'll have to find him later and thank him for the help." Following Gabriel through the doors, Sam couldn't quite believe the level of detail that'd gone into everything. Usually these things were half-arsed, bootleg style jobs that showed off the real Winchester family effort.

But this...

Even Gabe caught his breath.

Silver and royal blue balloons attached to small, weighted cowboy boots sat in the very center of every table and birthday banners were already hanging perfectly in place. Lines of red hearts trailed around the top beams and Sam smiled, reaching out to touch one. The material was the same as the Christmas decorations he and Dean put up at Bobby's but nobody would mind - or probably even notice. They were there and that's all that mattered.

"It looks so great, Gabe. Thanks," Sam half turned to make his way slowly down the wooden causeway towards the bandstand. "The band'll be here, I assume?" He glanced over his shoulder and Gabriel nodded. Live music was something Sam'd been adamant about for the party; anything less wouldn't do for the occasion apparently.

"Nothing gets past you, huh, kiddo." Gabriel's comeback was as Sam suspected it probably would be; vague with a nickname stuck on the end for good measure. "They'll be here for a sound check in about an hour and ready for kick off at five. What time's your little lady getting in?"

It made Sam laugh to think that Gabe wasn't actually that much older than Dean yet he acted like he was Bobby's age. Jess'd always been Sam's 'little lady' though.

"I'm driving her down for the start of the party. Probably won't be earlier than five." Coming back to the door, Sam pushed through and held it for Gabe - who followed behind and returned to cleaning glasses behind the bar.

The younger Winchester spied his brother, still playing at drying his hair as he talked to the dark haired guy from earlier. In all honesty, Sam felt bad for needing to interrupt them because it looked like Dean was getting on well with him; whoever he was. Approaching, they both looked up and Dean stood abruptly, like he'd had an electric shock or something.

Cas' brow creased momentarily as his eyes flickered between the pair.

"About what Gabe keeps saying-" Dean was quick to blurt out, his eyes widening as his mouth formed a small circle. "There's nothing-we're not-I don't know what the hell he's going on about. We're just friends. Guys can have friends who're guys without being into each other."

Sam's brows raised and he failed to repress a smile at Dean's willingness to try and make him believe nothing was going on. The thing was, the forcefulness with which his older brother tried to plead innocence only made Sam more convinced that Gabriel might be right - even if Dean didn't know it yet. Still, Sam just clapped the other Winchester on the shoulder and turned his attention towards the guy sat down.

"I'm Sam, Dean's younger brother." Sam held out his hand eagerly and watched the pair of eyes rose to actually meet his own. They were pools of the clearest crystalline blue and Sam was actually quite surprised by the shade.

Cas stood gracefully and clasped Sam's hand within both of his own, gently shaking it. "It's good to meet you, Sam. I'm Cas. I met your brother at the ballet class and," he paused, looking to Dean before leaning in towards the younger man, "there's really nothing going on between the two of us."

Moments passed and the handshake didn't drop but things didn't become awkward as they would've done if it was Dean meeting one of Sam's friends. That was another major difference between the brothers, Cas discovered. Sam was apparently much more open.

"Oh yeah? So you do ballet too, huh? That's awesome." Sam replied with a brighter smile. The ease with which the two were interacting put Dean at rest mostly but he knew Sam wouldn't have interrupted them unless there was something important to be done.

"Well, I-" Cas began to answer but Dean jumped in, directing Sam away.

"Is there something you needed, Sammy?" As Dean asked, his brother was slow to reply, holding onto the moment he'd just had with apparently the first guy friend Dean'd managed to make in a long while. Finally giving his brother his full attention, dropping the hold he had on Cas' hand, Sam cleared his throat and led Dean a little ways away.

Cas got the picture; it was a family thing. And he was far from family to anyone.

Quietly, making sure not to let Dean see him go, Cas collected his jacket, helmet and gloves from the spare room. As much as Dean had invited him and as much as he would only be an hour or so late for the party, Cas knew he wouldn't go. There was no point. Dean was far too adamant that they couldn't possibly be together; not that Cas had thought about that at all anyway.

Just being friends seemed too weird for Dean and that was why Cas didn't want to get too close to him. It seemed like the older Winchester was the jock at school who was secretly a geek but didn't want anyone to know - or at least that was the vibe he gave off sometimes. Casually moving back downstairs, passing Anna on the landing, Cas got all the way to the door before he heard Dean calling to him from inside.

A second later, Dean was at his side, leaning against the jamb. "Sam told me to tell you that you did an awesome job with the decorating and that he wants you to come to the party." The relayed message sounded horribly false coming from Dean but Cas could be believe the sincerity, even though he'd only known Sam a few minutes.

"Like I said, Dean, I have to take the dance class today. Please tell Sam that I'm sorry but I just-" Castiel shook his head and left without another word. Dean watched him go with furrowed brows. Truth was, Sam had invited Cas to the party but it was Dean who really wanted him there.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just kind of the end of the chapter from before. Had to split one to make it longer on the last update. Sorry for posting late, I had a deadline yesterday and just sort of crashed after it was handed in. This might be slightly shorter and I apologise for that. Also, there's some fluff stuff coming in a couple of chapters :')

At five, on the dot, Sam pulled up in his Prius with Jess in the passenger seat. He led her in with his hands covering her small, bright face and let them fall once they'd managed to stumble through the swing doors together.

"Surprise!" Sam's face lit up at seeing Jess' reaction and they kissed, uncaring who saw, to the background cheers of Dean and the rest of their mutual friends. Jess' mom was there and she couldn't help shedding a tear for what was to come. Earlier that day, Sam'd asked her permission to marry Jess. Without a second's hesitation, she'd agreed, knowing Sam was the best of the best in kindness and generosity. He'd looked after her little girl through good times and bad.

Dean threw an arm around Jess' mom, feeling much the same pride swell in his chest as he watched his younger brother gear up to take another huge step towards happiness. Yet, as happy as he could be, Dean was unchallengingly sad at that moment. Sam was his responsibility - though their relationship didn't stray to full-on codependency - and letting him fly the nest, letting him move forward was tough. Anything could happen when Dean wasn't there to protect him.

Gently breaking apart, Jess breathed softly against Sam's neck as she hugged him tightly. The height difference was quiant but Sam appreciated the way it made him feel like he could truly block out everything bad in the world. When Jess was there, encased in his embrace, he was a shield - and a damn good one at that. Ducking his face to press a warm kiss to the crown of Jess' bouncing blonde hair, Sam smiled and eased her away from him, gazing down into her blue-grey eyes.

"Give the girl a break, her mom's watching. Jeez, Romeo." Dean heckled and Sam let Jess go, making his way towards his brother across the grass. The two pulled one another into a tight hug and Dean clapped a hand firmly to his brother's shoulderblade. "I picked up that ring you wanted. It's in my jacket pocket upstairs." Parting, Dean picked up his half-empty glass of beer and took a deep drink.

Sam's smile said it all; which he was thankful for because his eyes were dumbly filling with tears. Pawing at his face with a large hand, Sam laughed at himself and sniffed back the overwhelming emotions that raged in his chest. "Dean-"

"Mom'd be proud of you, Sammy. I am too. Jess is, well, she's the best a Winchester could ever hope for." Dean hoped the jibe would run its course and have the desired effect, which it seemed to because, even though Sam let a few big tears roll down his face, he also barked out a laugh and nodded. Taking Dean's drink from him, much to the dismay of the older Winchester, Sam swigged back a large gulp and swallowed it for courage.

"I'll ask her before the buffet opens at seven." Sam decided, handing back his brother's beer - which Dean almost snatched and finished off to make sure he didn't have to share it with anyone again.

"Always gotta keep my stomach growling just that little bit longer, don't you Sammy." Dean tutted but couldn't help the good-natured smile.

"Yup. Where's Cas by the way?" The younger Winchester's question wasn't uninterested but he also didn't want to put forward too much pressure to answer. Dean seemed uncomfortable enough around the guy as it was when other people were involved. "I wanted the thank him for the great job he did on these cowboy decorations. Not that many people actually made the effort."

It was true, as Dean looked around the guests, he noticed not many of them were actually sporting plaid, hats or cowboy boots; everything Dean had in the back his wardrobe at Bobby's. "Cheer up, Sam, at least you're diggin' it." Giving a little shimmy, Dean moved away and half-danced his way to Jess; grabbing her playfully around the waist from behind.

"Jeez! Dean!" She jumped and squeaked a bit, making the older Winchester laugh against her. "A little warning next time, I almost splashed this wine in your face." She glanced over her shoulder to see his face and pouted.

"Wouldn't've made much difference, I'm heading back to get changed in a minute anyways." Dean leaned a planted a small kiss to Jess' cheek before he let her go. She literally was like the sister he'd never had and Dean wanted more than anything to take care of her. Turning to face him, Jess raised a brow and pursed her lips.

"Hurry back, okay. Sam says he's got something important to say later and I don't want to be the one making excuses for you." Pushing Dean's chest away, Jess bid him leave and return as quickly as possible. When an order like that came from Jess, Dean couldn't disobey.

Hightailing it up to grab the Impala keys from his jacket, Dean made short work of the drive home and changed into a clean, dark blue denim shirt and light grey jeans. Making sure to keep the buttons loose on the shirt, Dean threaded a plain brown belt through the loops on his jeans and attached the biggest buckle he could find. It was a gaudy, silver thing with a rodeo rider in the middle and he couldn't help the small chuckle escaping as he inspected himself in the bathroom mirror.

To tell the truth, he looked freakin' awesome. Moving back into the bedroom, Dean pulled the old pair of light brown, heeled cowboy boots out from under his bed and squeezed his feet into them before standing and reaching up onto the top shelf of the closet and grabbing the beige cowboy hat that'd been lingering since who-knew-when.

He'd be the most authentic cowboy there and nobody would be able to judge him for it because that was the point of having a theme. If anything, Dean was the one who could point and laugh. Sneaking an extra two shirts, a blue and purple checkered one that belonged to Sam and looked great on Jess - he'd seen it on her before - and another denim one of his own.

For Cas.

The fact that Cas'd made it so very clear that he wouldn't be attending should've put Dean's mind at rest as to the fact but there was a resilience in the Winchester that had him thinking Cas would want to see his own handiwork when the lights were turned on. With a sneaking suspicion Cas might turn up, Dean left Bobby's and drove back to Trickster's, trying to hide the smile on his face.

Stepping out of the Impala, shutting the door behind him, Dean felt like Clint Eastwood - minus the monkey, of course. Strutting right into the building, with his hat tipped low over his eyes, Dean strode right through with the spare shirts in his hand and pushed through the swing doors. The western music was perfect and what sounded like Jess wolf-whistling came from his left, followed by a decent howl from Sam.

A smirk curled one side of Dean's face and broke his concentration of character. He presented Jess with the plaid shirt and left the other one on the chair marked as his, beside Sam. The band was in full swing and Jess shrugged on the shirt before pulling the older Winchester towards the grassy area where others were dancing.

Sam just watched them, resting his chin on one hand. In a way, the fact that Jess was dancing with Dean was the best thing in the world. Dean was notorious for being careful who he got close to because of the teasing he'd received as a teen. Getting called a bad omen had almost pushed the older Winchester over the edge a couple of times and Sam'd been the one to witness the breakdowns Dean thought nobody could see.

The way both of their faces lit up as the danced to a cover of Dolly Parton's Nine to Five warmed Sam to no end.

Dean was all-too-ready to make a fool of himself for Jess' sake and he took her hands in his, bringing her close and moving her away again. A couple of twirls and a fake lasso action later and Dean was flushed and panting. Jess snatched his cowboy had and made off with it, fitting it easily onto her smaller head. With her red cheeks, Dean thought she looked so pretty. Sam was a lucky guy but it didn't come without a cost - things were never happy-go-lucky all the time. Whatever came their way, though, Dean knew they'd work through it because they were perfect for one another.

Seven rolled around and it was beginning to get dark. Gabriel took that as a cue to turn on the lights and buckle down for Sam's proposal. Flicking the switch, a chorus of appreciation crept across the garden and Gabriel took a bow; to much applause. Dean frowned for just a second because Cas and Anna were the ones who'd made it look so beautiful out there, not Gabe.

However, Dean couldn't stop marvelling at how delicate everything looked in the warm glow now. Sam's cheeks were clearly flushed as he stepped up and took hold of Jess and danced slowly with her. Almost having to tear himself away, the older Winchester slipped back inside and got the ring from the jacket pocket, depositing his car keys to fill the gap.

Coming back down the stairs, Dean stopped briefly to see if Cas would turn up but he was disappointed. The other was probably doing some really great routine back at the studio; one that Dean would never see. He sighed and joined the rest of the guests outside again, handing over the small blue box to Sam as discreetly as he could manage.

Taking the box and opening it, not putting it past Dean to have replaced the pricey engagement ring with a Haribo one, Sam looked to his brother for one last shot of courage before signalling to the band to stop playing. They did and a sudden hush fell across the crowd. Dean watched on with pride in every pore of his skin.

It was as though Jess knew what was coming because her head tilted to the side and her eyes narrowed but she carried on smiling. Sam held out one hand, keeping the other behind his back, and Jess took it slowly, as though if she moved too harshly this bubble of her perfect reality would burst.

"Jessica Lee Moore..." Sam started, and gave her hand a tender squeeze at the same time as he towered over her in the most caring way Dean'd ever seen.

Jess blushed and turned her head down. "You only call me that when it's really important."

Dean caught the slight tremble in her lip and bit the inside of his cheek. This was a big moment for them both. Still, Sam pushed on, laughing breathily as he raised her face with a curled finger beneath her chin and looked into her eyes.

"I know and believe me, this is really important." As he spoke, Sam cleared his throat and lowered himself to one knee. Of course, by that point, everyone - including Dean - was holding a lungful of breath. The whole place genuinely felt like a vacuum and Dean honestly wondered how Jess was managing not to faint with the lack of air.

Jess pressed a hand to her mouth and watched with tear-rimmed orbs as Sam brought the box forward and opened it. The ring inside was a stunning but simple band of gold, holding a tiny jewel that Dean recognised to be almost the same as Mary's had been. It was a sentimental touch but one that would make Jess a true Winchester when she said yes.

"Jessica Lee Moore..." Sam repeated, gathering himself as looking up into her cherub face. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me and you've always been there for me, through thick and thin. And I know I'm a handful sometimes, like when there's a difficult case that's making me angry, but you've stuck by me no matter what." He had to pause and take a breath to stop his voice from cracking. Jess' fingers brushed through the hair by his ear and Sam leaned into the touch before he continued. "You know all the Winchester traditions and bake the best pies I've ever tasted so, I was wondering if you would make me the happiest man alive and marry me?"

Not even a second passed before Jess had agreed and Sam proceeded to slip the ring onto her finger. Standing, the younger Winchester pulled Jess close to him and kissed her long and deep to cheers and whooping. As they broke apart, Sam took Dean's cowboy hat from his fiancée and put it on, tipping the front as he dug a heel into the grass and looped his thumbs through the belt hoops in his jeans.

A real cowboy gesture.

The buffet opened and the evening drew on. More alcohol flowed and, eventually, Dean got hold of a guitar and a microphone. In fact, the band were taking a short break and Dean occupied the single stool in the middle of the bandstand. He knew a couple of songs from when he'd learnt the basics in high school but he was a little tipsy and rusty. Things couldn't have been further against him.

Yet, Dean tuned the instrument and started the play as best he could remember. It was sloppy but dressed as he was, the Winchester couldn't have cared less. He looked the part and figured his voice was deep enough - if the karaoke nights they had at Trickster's were anything to go by.

The finger picking wasn't the easiest but Dean smiled when it came out better than he thought it would. The lyrics were etched into his mind from the days of having to put up with Bobby choosing the music at the garage. Dean tapped his foot to keep time and sang as Sam and Jess danced a bit more.

By the second verse, Dean was really into the song and a lot of people were up, clapping and singing along. He was enjoying it, despite the fact that it sounded like the thirteen year old Dean was practicing. Sam thought it was funny to square dance and everyone followed, almost making Dean crack and lose his place but he valiantly kept playing into the chorus.

As clichéd as Kenny Rogers was, Dean couldn't help but recognise the significance of it to himself and Sam. His brother knew when to do all the things and had a great poker face when he needed one. Dean was good at poker because he knew how to lie but when it came to holding, folding, keeping and throwing away, the older Winchester had made some really bad decisions in his life.

Like Cas.

Cas was a decision he was struggling with. Even though they'd only known each other a week, there were things he knew about Cas that he was sure the other probably hadn't told those related to him. The way Cas spoke of his family made Dean think they definitely weren't close like him and Sam.

Keeping his mind from straying, Dean went through the rest of the song pretty nonchalantly, deepening and almost growling out some of the parts; making him seem so sexy. Scanning the faces around the edge, on the decking, Dean resigned himself to the fact that Cas wasn't going to come.

As the tune came to an end, everyone cheered and Dean thanked them. The band seemed to still be taking a break - though they reassured Gabriel that they'd start again momentarily - and Sam asked Dean if he still knew how to play anything else. There was one thing.

"Blue jean baby, LA lady," Dean crooned as his fingers strummed against the strings lightly. Couples formed and swayed, creating a sea of bodies that would've made the Winchester feel sick if he was more drunk. Coming to the chorus, Sam and Jess were kissing and her arms were clasped around his taut waist.

Dean belted it out and tilted his head back, loving the freedom he felt in the music. When he looked out, across the decking again, movement caught his eye and he didn't know whether his orbs squinted or widened. He almost choked and stopped playing but the light, encouraging, almost proud smile on Cas' lips held him in place.

The dancer leaned against the side of the building, one boot pressed to the brick, the other supporting his weight. They held one another's gaze for a long moment before Dean had to look away to change chord. When his head shot back up, the other hadn't moved one inch. Clearly he wasn't a mirage.

Handing the guitar over, Dean couldn't make his way across to Cas fast enough and he tripped right up the decking, barely catching himself. A strong pull that unnerved Dean had him bringing the other into a tight hug which Cas could only return.

"I didn't think you'd make it." The Winchester stated, easing back but still letting his hands linger on Cas' shoulders. There was relief in his voice, and it was so obvious that Cas couldn't help smiling as he turned his head down, away from Dean's gaze.

"Well, to be honest, I wasn't going to come but all through class, I couldn't stop imagining you dressed like a cowboy. Obviously I'm not too late for that." A smirk took place on Cas' lips as he raised his gaze and caught the colour spread across Dean's face - which he tried desperately to hide. Compliments weren't an uncommon thing but having them come from Cas was strangely more satisfying than usual for Dean.

Before either one could say more, Sam interrupted them, a bright smile plastered across his features. It hadn't left since Jess'd accepted his proposal. Dean's hands slipped quickly back to his sides and Cas didn't miss the obvious action.

"Cas, hey, you made it!" Sam's touch immediately replaced Dean's upon the dancer's shoulder and Cas smiled, nodding.

"So I keep being told. It's quite pretty with the lights on." With a sweeping hand, which Dean couldn't help following with his eyes, Castiel gestured around to emphasise his compliment. Sam turned and looked too, as though it was the first time he was seeing it.

"Yeah," the younger Winchester breathed out and hummed quietly before making his way back towards Jess and taking her in his arms for a dance.

And so Dean and Cas were alone again and it was awkward as all hell now. One would glance towards the other and then look away quickly, causing the other to miss his eyes; quite frustrating really.

"Charlie missed you today," Cas broke the heavy silence between them as he leaned to the side, towards Dean, not taking his eyes from the sea of swaying bodies. "She's pretty taken with you, I think. And that's saying a lot."

Dean fiddled with the buttons on his shirt and drew in a breath that shook him lightly as Cas' form neared his own. This was truly ridiculous and he shook his head as he listened. "Course she is, I've got killer hips. Not just a pretty face, y'know." A confident as crap smirk came to the Winchester's face and Cas turned towards him.

"You could be the prettiest boy in Kansas and it wouldn't make any difference. She doesn't like guys," Cas stepped down from the decking and invited Dean to go with him using a single look, thrown over his slender shoulder.

What was the point in getting his hopes up, only to be dashed in the next second? Dean sighed and followed Cas to the grass. Anna was dancing, wearing the cowboy hat that seemed to have traveled around the whole party. Dean moved up, weaving through a couple of elbows, and plucked it from her head to replace it upon his own. He'd been separated from Castiel startlingly quickly in the mass of people.

"Hey-oh, Dean," Anna whipped around and then relaxed when she realised who it was. She'd been putting him off for years - another evening wouldn't hurt. But Dean just looked so damn good in that outfit and Anna couldn't even pretend otherwise. "Or should I call you Clint?"

"Ma'am," with a short tip of the hat, Dean started to dance and, against her better judgement, Anna joined him. A strong hand came to lay at the flat of her back and Dean edged them closer together while the slower tune was mid-way through. Castiel was quite forgotten from his mind - or at least that was the reason for his such obvious over compensation.

More and more thoughts were heading towards Cas in the past couple of days and Dean always laughed when he caught himself zoning out in the middle of a job at the garage. Or around the coffee pot in the mornings. Or in the shower. It was just the way the other wasn't ever afraid to approach him with an open mind and open hands that made Dean so in awe of him a lot of the time.

Not that he'd been touch-starved, not by a long shot, but it had been a while since anyone'd been quite so open and honest towards Dean, expecting nothing in return.

"Yoohoo! Earth to Dean!" Anna's face tightly smiled up towards him and her hand waved in front of his eyes, bringing Dean back to reality all-too-quickly. "Thought I'd lost you there for a minute."

The Winchester blinked and shrugged, "I was just thinking on all the stuff we'd get up to if you let me."

Anna tutted and shook her head, letting her face drop as she gently pushed Dean away. "It's a nice enough game, Dean, but I'm looking for something a little longer lasting than a night of thunder under the covers and then never looking you in the eyes again. I don't want to lose what we have here, now, this."

It was an honest confession and Dean nodded, resting his chin on the top of her head as Anna pressed her cheek to his chest. They were good friends and the older Winchester didn't have many of those so he had to work to keep them.

"Reading you loud and clear," he murmured into the crown of her red hair before pulling back and holding at her upper arms. "Could do with another beer or two, I think." Dean rubbed his neck once he'd released his grip on Anna, and she smiled before moving away, back inside to fetch a couple more bottles. The space Anna left in front of him wasn't filled as quickly as it could've been and definitely not by the right people. Well...person, really.

Letting his gaze flit through the faces, Dean's eyes fell on Cas a little ways away. He looked like he was having fun with some chick, or the guy who seemed all-too-handsy. A clenching of jealousy sprang up in Dean's gut but he stamped it down before it could grow out of control, leaving just a strange twinge beneath his skin. He wanted out of this place because everyone around him was sickeningly happy and it couldn't have been more obvious how absolutely alone he was in that moment.

Dean bumped Anna while she was on her way back outside with the drinks. She reacted exactly how a good friend would and asked the Winchester if everything was okay. Naturally, Dean responded that it was and the old faithful "I have a headache" excuse slid between his lying teeth. Of course he felt bad for not telling the truth, especially to someone so close to him, and Sam would wonder where he'd gone, and he'd probably be accused of over-reacting but, right then, Dean just needed to breathe. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early update because I'm seeing Bastille on Thursday. Life is getting hectic now and, as I do a screenwriting course, we're expected to write a feature film script by the beginning of May, as well as a comedy pilot, a marketing portfolio and a theatre script. Updates WILL be slower now. Many apologies for that in advance. I hope to update maybe every two weeks, depending. Thanks for the support guys :)
> 
> PS. This is really short because it's kind of the end to the last chapter. Sorry guys!

Having never been an emotional kind of person, Dean was confused by the way he felt seeing Cas dancing with other people. After all, he was allowed to. They weren't together, couldn't be together, so Dean had no right to be such an asshole about it. Not that his rational mind had kicked in as he unlocked the Impala and slammed the driver's door closed after him.

Sitting in the silence, that seemed all-too-heavy around him, Dean tried to think. He hadn't drank that much so his mind was functioning about as well as it had any other time that he'd spent contemplating a serious relationship decision. Heck, this might actually have been a better idea with alcohol but then he'd have to spend another night above the bar and, with work in the morning, Bobby might not be too forgiving.

Letting his hands slowly reach towards the steering wheel, his fingers splayed and touched the worn ring, knowing it would ground him after a while. It was times like this that Dean wished he had his mom to talk to. Mary would know just what to do about this whole Cas situation; if that's what it even was. Maybe Dean was taking it way out of hand and, really, there was nothing to think about. He should just say yes to Cas and let the chips fall where they may. But what if John found out? What if Sam thought he was disgusting and never wanted to be around him again? What if Bobby told him to leave? Too many 'what ifs' were running around Dean's head that he barely noticed Bobby approaching the Impala's window until a loud tap on the glass startled him.

It was exactly the same way Mary'd tapped on the window that day in the storm and Dean froze. His whole body went rigid and his gut clenched, fists balling hard around the steering wheel in front of him. He felt like he was going to throw up but forced his head just to the side, catching Bobby's motion as he heard the click of the door opening.

"You alright there, son?" Bobby's voice was light and somehow, strangely soothing against the drumbeat of Dean's heart in his own ears. His knuckles were white and his breath was being held so tight in his chest that it was a wonder he hadn't turned blue. "Dean?"

The older man crouched as best he could at Dean's side, resting a hand on the Winchester's shoulder and giving a tender squeeze. Dean was surprising receptive and managed to nod and give a weak sound in response. "I'm fine," he whispered quickly before swallowing and prising his hands away to let them lay in his lap, fidgety.

"Either you're lying to me or the definition of 'fine' has changed since my day," Bobby commented, shaking his head as he reached into the car and eased the hat from Dean's head. He exchanged the beige one for his usual cap and sloppily placed the old, soft heirloom between Dean's hands. "I'll see you back at the house in a couple'a hours. Get some sleep." Patting the Winchester's cheek, Bobby rose and closed the car door as quietly as he could before striding off towards the bar and grill.

That was the thing about Bobby that Dean liked the most. He, so obviously, knew something was wrong a lot of the time but he never pushed; always accepting the simple excuses until either of the boys were really ready to open up to him. Some would call it irresponsible, some would say it was bad parenting but Dean would openly admit that it was the way he'd raise his kids - should he ever have any. Forcing things never got anyone anywhere.

Driving back to Bobby's was almost like a blur, as though the car was set on autopilot. Dean didn't even realise he'd unlocked the door, climbed the stairs, changed and put on his soft ballet shoes until he was stretching in the middle of his bedroom. Somehow he'd even managed to wrangle Sam's cd player from somewhere without so much as a thought.

Opening one of the cases Cas'd lent him, a slightly bitter pang coming along with it now, Dean clicked the cd out and pressed it into the player before closing the lid and pressing play. Although the speakers couldn't feesibly fill the room as much as they did at the studio, the soothing tones were loud enough to course through Dean's whole body and his muscles fought to relax against his over-active imagination. Cas was probably getting off with that guy in the bathroom of Gabe's right now.

Rigourously, Dean stretched, breaking a sweat after only half an hour. The rhythm of the songs were really throwing him off because one would be slow, easy to get into, and the next would pick up pace and he'd be forced to change his timing subtly. Still, by the time the first disc ran all the way to the end, Dean was limber and warm. All thoughts of Cas were in the back of his mind as he opened the second cd case.

The disc wasn't marked like the previous one had been and Dean assumed that it must be some kind of mix-tape or something. He popped it in and pressed play. A punchy beat started and he listened, not able to stop his right foot from tapping against the floorboards quietly. The way the lyrics seemed to cry out to him put Dean's walls to the ground and he turned up the volume to full in hopes that it would consume him in a bigger, more wholesome way than simply washing over him from one tiny part of the room.

Setting the song to repeat, the Winchester stood back and listened again, letting his body feel the way the song moved up and down, fast and slow, in waves. He could practically see it if he closed his eyes; which was saying something considering he'd never been one to pay much attention to how tunes were constructed. Assuming the song was called something like 'Bad Blood', since that was the most common phrase he could hear, Dean figured it was horribly relevant to him in general and it would be a good piece to work on a routine to.

Cas might be prouder of him if he tried to put something together to show. But it wouldn't be something for public viewing, hell, he'd only do it once in front of Cas probably, so it had to be good. It had to be perfect.

For the next handful of hours, until Dean heard Sam and Bobby come back, he practiced something he thought was pretty good, very rough for him current skills, but good in a Dean Winchester constant-failure-good-for-nothing way. He was just stripping down to his boxer briefs when Sam opened the door.

"Oop!" Sam stepped back out, clutching the door with one hand as he slightly giggled behind it. "Sorry!" He stage-whispered and Dean couldn't keep the smile from his face at his brother's antics. Clearly Sam was drunk but Dean couldn't hold that against him. Jess'd agreed to marry his moose ass and that was cause for celebration to the max. "I thought you were back at Gabe's!"

Moving to the door, Dean gently eased it open and raised a brow at Sam in the faint glow from the light in the downstairs hallway. He looked smashed out of his face, but happy. "C'mon Romeo," Dean wound an arm around his brother's waist and helped him through the room to his own bed. Sitting Sam down, the older Winchester went for the laces on his boots and removed them one by one, setting them in line by the bedside table.

The situation was all-too-familiar of late and Dean couldn't help relating it to Cas. His heart sank a little but he kept a strong stance while caring for Sam. Grabbing the glass from the top of the chest of drawers, Dean filled it with water from the bathroom tap and returned to find his brother flopped on his side and groaning. "Never again, Dean. 'M never gonna drink again. This sucks. I hate this."

Leaning over to guide Sam into a partially upright position, Dean held the glass to his lips and tipped it slowly back. Sam drank and swallowed as though he'd been coddled like this a million times; which, of course, he had, especially when he was ill.

"Atta boy, Sammy." Dean stroked his brother's hair, attempting to soothe the probable headache Sam was already harbouring. "A little more."

Sam drank until half the water was gone and Dean was satisfied that he wouldn't throw up. Still, he laid the younger Winchester on his side, just in case, switched off the cd player at the plug before pushing the door to and clambering into his own bed. Pulling the blanket up to his chin, Dean curled an arm around his pillow and tried to get comfortable.

"Dean?" Came Sam's stage-whisper again, though this time it was mixed with a hint of 'I don't care if Bobby hears me'. Dean turned over in bed to face his brother across the room and let his eyes close.

"Mhmm?" Dean hummed in response, wondering exactly how Sam was still awake at that point. If it was him, he'd have been out like a light before he'd even drank anything Sam tried to get him to.

"I wish mom could've been there tonight."

The statement caught Dean off guard and his eyes opened to stare into the partial darkness of the room. If only Sam knew how much it hurt him to think about the fact that she could've been if he hadn't wanted to dance so badly. If she hadn't have encouraged him to want to be good at it, Mary would be the proudest mom on the planet right now.

"Me too," was Dean reply. It was honest and quiet and full of the guilt that he carried with him everyday. "'M sorry."

"No. Nonononooono Dean, I didn't mean it like that," Sam whined back across the space and the older Winchester could see his brother trying to sit up but failing. He hadn't seen Sam this drunk in a while and it was amusing but perhaps not the right time to be talking about Mary. "Y'know, I just wish she was here, so that she could've seen the way you looked at Cas tonight."

Oh...

Wait. What?

"Whadd'ya mean?" Dean asked blindly, creasing his brow. Sam snorted and Dean heard the comforter rustle as his brother moved onto his back and threw an arm over his eyes.

"I think it's pretty obvious. You. Cas. I'm not blind, Dean," the slurred words became more and more sleep-riddled and the older Winchester had the feeling his brother wouldn't have any recollection of this little chat in the morning. At least he hoped he wouldn't, because Dean hated when he had to lie to Sam.

"I don't even know him that well. Shuttup and go to sleep," turning heavily onto his other side, Dean huffed and pressed his face tightly into his bared bicep. He closed his eyes and wished away the evening and the way his heart thudded against his ribcage, making him feel like it was beating itself bloody.

Sam took that as the end of the conversation and, moments later, he was snoring.

In he morning, Dean couldn't help the way his brother throwing up made him feel. He'd dealt with it a few times in the past but no guy should feel so bad after he'd asked the love of his life to marry him the night before.

"Do you need me to hold your hair?" Dean jibed from outside the bathroom door, letting a smirk come to his lips as he heard another dry wretch against the back of Sam's throat.

"Shuttup, jerk!" Came in response, followed by another laboured sound, a cough and then the toilet flushing. A few minutes later, Sam unlocked the door and stepped out looking so tired and sweaty that Dean half wondered whether he was sicker than just a hangover. Leaning on the doorjamb, Sam pulled a hand through his hair and down his face. The colour of his skin, the way the pallor made the bags beneath his eyes stand out all the more, had the older Winchester clenching a jaw and losing the jovial twist on his lips in an instant.

"Dude, you sure you're good?" Standing, Dean caught his brother around the waist and led him to his bed, tucking him in before pushing the damp hair from his forehead gently. "Just don't get out of bed for a couple'a hours, 'kay. I've got work." Turning, Dean left the room as quietly as he could.

At the garage, all Dean could think about was Sam.

And Cas.

The fact that it was apparently so obvious, that Dean had a strange feeling whenever he was around Cas, made him anxious. If it was clear enough for Sam to see then who else knew? Trust him to think about Dean's happiness above his own.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life's been horrific lately and I've barely had time to live, let alone write. So I apologise so much to you guys, if there are any of you anymore ^_^' Uni is still hectic as anything but I'll post this now and try to at least post the next chapter in the next two weeks. Sorry about the wait.

Tuesday seemed to drag and Dean couldn't wait to get out of the workshop and shower back at Bobby's house. He hadn't seen, or heard from Cas since the party and it was making the Winchester feel odd because they weren't even that close as people. He knew very little about Cas, and Cas about him, but they just seemed to click whenever they were together - enough to cause Sam to be suspicious about them anyway.

Getting to the studio, Dean slipped through the automatic doors and strode to the front desk. Charlie was there, chewing on the end of her pen as she typed away at her computer. She looked up but her expression didn't change when she spotted Dean.

"Hey Charlie," he gave a small wave and a smile. Whether he meant to or not, Dean couldn't help seeing her as less of a possibility now that he knew she didn't like guys. Before, of course, he'd thought she was fun and cute but now there was every chance they could become actually good friends without messing it up with a night of meaningless sex. "Cas in yet?"

Charlie shook her head and pointed towards the chairs lining the side of the room. Mr Turner - Rufus - sat there. He appeared to be waiting too, bag at his feet. Tapping his palm to the counter, Dean thanked her and shuffled over, sitting down beside the older man. Rufus glanced his way.

"You're Bobby Singer's adopted boy, right?" The question fell pretty easily into the space between them but it took a moment for Dean to answer. It wasn't official that Bobby had adopted him and Sam but if the older man went around telling it that way, then who was Dean to argue? He nodded and Rufus mirrored the gesture. "Sorry about your mom, kid."

Dean cleared his throat, not really needing to feel the emotions that threatened at that moment. "Thanks. How do you know Bobby anyways?" An interested brow quirked and Rufus looked past Dean to the doors, hoping Cas would come through them soon.

"Me and Bobby, we go way back. Way, way back. Served in Vietnam together."

It'd never come out that Bobby'd been a soldier and Dean's brow furrowed as his jaw dropped open slightly. He could definitely see Bobby being good in a situation like that but for it to actually be true was something else. "Vietnam? Woah. He never said anything..."

"It's not something you just talk about," Rufus replied, not all-too-sure why Dean was so surprised by the small detail. But then, finding something out that was a secret before - especially after living with someone for so many years - usually elicited that kind of reaction. "Saved my life more than once. Is why I come here nowadays. Can't run anymore since there's shrapnel lodged in my hip."

Before Dean had the chance to ask any more questions, Cas came through the doors, bag slung over his shoulder. He was like a whirlwind of energy that careened right up to the desk, apparently completely missing the fact that Dean and Rufus were even present.

"Is anyone here for my class today, Charlie?" Cas spoke hurriedly through panting breaths, like he'd been running for a good ten minutes straight. Dean could see the way his tight, grey t-shirt stuck to his slightly sweatier skin and just managed to look away as Cas' eyes followed Charlie's direction towards him. "Apologies," he swallowed through parted lips and Rufus stood, making his way up the stairs, leaving the pair of them to follow behind.

On the way, Dean and Cas didn't speak to one another. Dean was nervous of saying something rude and upsetting the other and Cas was much the same. He wanted to know why Dean'd left the party so early but asking might kick up too much unwanted tension for the class. Finally, as they found themselves alone together in the locker room - Dean's jeans pooling at his feet as he stood in his boxer briefs - Cas broke the silence.

He stood, facing his open locker, one hand was clenched around the metal door. "The party was good on Sunday. I enjoyed it." The statements were quiet and Dean's gaze flitted across the gap to rest on the curve of Cas' bare shoulders. The bones stuck out in such points that the valley between them looked to be the most perfect plain to press his face and kiss.

Dean shook his head and whetted his lips, his gut clenching in a way he didn't want it to. "Yeah. It was alright."

"You left pretty early." A simple observation as Cas bent to pull on his blue ankle warmers. Standing and softly closing his locker, Cas turned the thin, tight shirt he usually wore between his hands and swallowed. "Dean-"

"Sam said something weird to me when he got back..." Dean intergected as he sat on one of the benches and pulled his dark tights over his ankles. Even looking at Cas was becoming somewhat difficult and it wasn't going to get any easier with the confession on his lips. "It kinda worried me."

Instantly, Cas was at his side, sitting a little ways away, hands in his own lap, slender fingers curling around one another. Intelligent blue eyes were analysing Dean's body language faster than he could even breathe to think about telling Cas what Sam'd said, and he couldn't decide whether the interest was good or bad. Taking a deep inhale, Dean forced his gaze to rise to meet Cas'.

"He said he wished our mom could've been there..." Dean admitted and Cas' hand touched to his shoulder, expression suddenly sympathetic as all hell. Yet he said nothing, providing support to Dean whether he chose to finish the sentence or not. "But not to see him ask Jess to marry him. He said he wished she was there so that she could've-"

A quick rapping on the door drove Dean back, away from Cas' touch and the Winchester stood abruptly, pressing his body forward to give the impression he was searching his open locker for something. Cas' attention moved to the door but his hand still hovered in mid-air while one of the girls told him another one had twisted her ankle during a pirouette.

The first thought that came to Dean's mind was to tell Cas to leave her there until they were finished but he couldn't muster up the courage to continue speaking after the interruption. A confident "I'll be right there" from Cas and the door closed again, leaving them alone.

"Please, continue, Dean," Cas encouraged, standing.

"It's fine, doesn't matter. It's not important." Dean closed his eyes, thankful that his face was hidden from the other as he was sure he looked about as upset as he felt at that moment. Still, his voice'd come out strangely strong and dismissive towards Cas and he heard the other sigh heavily behind him. "I'll be out in a minute, 'kay? Best go be some girl's Superman."

Instant regret flooded Dean's whole body and he could feel his stomach turning at how much he didn't want Cas to go. This was worse than he thought and the other seemed to realise the fact because, as he passed towards the door, Cas let a flat palm catch Dean's hip and, with a slow drag, burned a path across the small of his back before the fingertips lingered a moment longer and finally dropped. And then Dean was alone and having to compose himself.

All through his shift the following day, Dean couldn't get two things out of his mind; the way Cas' touch had scared and soothed him, and the fact that Bobby'd fought in a freakin' war. So John had been a Marine but Dean didn't know if he'd actually seen action at all. To have saved someone's life shouldn't be something people kept to themselves. Hell, Dean would've used it to catch all sorts of skirt if it'd happened to him.

At dinner that evening, Dean used the opportunity to ask Bobby about it as the pair of them, as well as Jess and Sam sat around the small table in Bobby's kitchen. Dean spooned macaroni cheese into his mouth and spoke as it bunched into the side of his cheek. "I ran into Rufus Turner yesterday," he pointed his fork purposefully towards Bobby to punctuate the direction of his conversation.

Sam looked up because he knew it was in Dean's routine to go to ballet classes on Tuesdays. Whether Bobby knew about them or not, he wasn't sure. Still, with an interested gaze, Sam listened on, civilly shoveling another forkful of macaroni into his mouth.

"Is he still alive?" Bobby questioned, in the same way Dean would to Sam or vise versa.

"'Fraid so," Dean replied, wiping the side of his own mouth with the pad of his thumb and licking off the stray melted cheese. "And," he leaned in, hunching his shoulders a bit as he smirked, "he told me you guys were in Vietnam together."

Bobby put down his fork and it clattered loudly enough to have Jess jumping slightly in her chair across the table from where Dean was sitting. "How'd that come up?"

Not expecting that exact reaction, Dean sat back and managed to swallow the food he had in his mouth before continuing, more wary about treading on Bobby's toes about it than he'd been before. "Oh, y'know, we were just talking and he mentioned it." Dean offered with a shrug and slightly wider eyes as his tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek.

"Just talkin', huh?" Bobby questioned, easing his plate towards the middle of the table like it'd suddenly turned rotten. Dean felt a pang of guilt about raising the subject and realised that Rufus was right; there was probably a reason neither Sam or Dean had even known about Vietnam.

"Yeah, y'know, while we waited for the, uh, well, the ballet class-"

Dean's confession was eclipsed by a guffaw that almost made him crap himself. Bobby's face immediately lost the expression that said 'war torn soldier' and adopted a lighter air. "Rufus Turner? Doing ballet? Well bend me over and call me Irene," the older man belly laughed and had to wipe his eyes as his appetite returned and he pulled the plate back, spearing more of the macaroni.

After a moment of suppressed laughter, broken by small titters that he couldn't hold back, Bobby finally looked up at Dean. "So you took Sam up on his offer then? The whole dancing thing? I thought you did. All that bangin' and crashin' was too frequent for even Dean 'the stallion' Winchester." The jibe had Dean bristling but Jess laughed and, in turn, Sam, leading to the older Winchester finally admitting that it was pretty much the truth.

"You know I don't do that anymore, Bobby. That old Dean, he's gone. Not got the belly for it anyways." Dean sighed, a small smile playing on his lips. Sam narrowed his eyes in a strangely motherly way and reached to wind his fingers around Jess'.  

Laying in bed, that night, Dean couldn't help thinking about the party. He'd been so close to telling Cas what Sam'd said and, without the interruption of that girl, he probably would've. It just showed how much Dean had changed in such a short time and that was a thoroughly frightening prospect.

Turning over, Dean looked at Sam's made, empty bed and sighed. Were they that obvious; himself and Cas, that Sam honestly thought there was some kind of spark? Coming quickly to the conclusion that his brother was out of his mind, and had been drunk at the time, Dean remembered very distinctly feeling jealous at the party, after Anna left him.

Cas had been dancing with another guy and he looked like he was having so much more fun than Dean could possibly ever have, with or without him. Oddly though, Dean thought that would've been the first accusation to come out of his mouth when he saw Cas after the party, but it hadn't been. He'd managed to be pretty civil.

And why shouldn't Dean be civil? It was his fault that nothing was happening between them. Cas had tried, numerous times to flirt with him, and get closer, but Dean's stubbornness and fear, his insecurity had stopped the advances dead. So why was Cas expected to miss out if he couldn't have what he wanted?

Still, the pit of Dean's gut felt like it was tightening and he rolled onto his back, throwing an arm over his eyes. Would it be too far to ask Cas if the night'd gone well? Probably.

But Dean wanted to know. For some sick reason.

At the next class, that Sunday, Cas greeted Dean with a warm smile, something all-too-familiar that had Dean's stomach doing backflips. He didn't want to ruin the atmosphere but, after a pretty hectic day at work, things were running through his mind that bordered on spiteful. Cas went about letting him, and the other members of the class, warm up before allowing the more advanced dancers to pair off and practice for the Easter show.

Approaching, Cas' eyes were hungrier than Dean'd ever seen them as they roamed his torso in their sexy, but analytical, way.

"Chin up," Cas demonstrated and Dean tried to copy him without looking ridiculous - failing miserably. "Keep your posture even, spread the elegance. See?" With another easy action, extending an arm out to the side, and a flick of his wrist, Cas turned his attention back to Dean, expectant.

"In case you hadn't noticed, I'm not exactly one of those music box ballerinas." Dean could recognise that he was being a massive asshole but Cas didn't bring him up on it, instead simply waited, holding his position. Huffing, Dean tried his best to copy it but the action was so very stunted.

Cas' gaze softened and he dropped his arm, moving around to Dean's back and pressed his body in close, blanketing the Winchester muscle for muscle. "Relax," he murmured, intent blue orbs following the line of Dean's tight arm as his own limb ghosted it, hand coming to rest and curl round the other's gently.

Dean supposed he should feel uncomfortable, considering what he knew, but nothing sparked to make him pull away. The minute hairs on Dean's skin stood up, became so receptive to Cas' touch that it honestly surprised them both - or so Dean assumed, when he heard a sharp inhale right beside his ear.

Slowly, Cas' other hand trailed its way down Dean's torso, fingertips brushing the line of his side - with purpose; this touch was deliberate - before coming to rest firmly on the Winchester's hip. Strangely, it felt right and Dean tentatively let his own hand lay across Cas' at his waist.

"See," Cas whispered, against Dean's hair, nudging gently at him with the tip of his nose. Uncurling his hand from Dean's outstretched one, Cas reached and tipped Dean's chin up, encouraging him to look ahead into the mirror. "Your posture is really, very good, Dean. I'm impressed."

Meeting his own eyes in the reflection, Dean couldn't help feeling the heavy storm of emotions in his chest. He could almost see the way his pupils were bigger than they should be and his cheeks held a dark blush that betrayed exactly how he knew, deep down, he felt when Cas was even near him. Just saying it was the difficult part.

"Did you give that guy at Jess' party this much attention?"

Cas' hand slid out from beneath Dean's, almost preempting the comment, and he moved away, visibly dejected. Dean ducked his face immediately at the loss of the touch and warmth.

"I really don't see how that's any of your business." The tone of Cas' response was plain and not anything like Dean thought it would be. That only made him feel worse about it because, if Cas wasn't going to go into detail, then what was even the point of trying to provoke him? "We both have our own lives, Dean. You've reassured me, countless times, that there's no possible way we'd ever be together, so I've accepted it. Keep practicing with your posture and, next Tuesday, we'll see how well you can pirouet."

With a straight back, Cas left Dean by himself. It was so obvious that Dean'd put his foot in it and, for the rest of the session, he tried to think of ways to make up for being such a massive douchebag.

That evening, after dinner, which Dean'd left the majority of, he sat with Sam in the living room. Bobby was out, fixing a tyre for Sheriff Mills.

"Hey Sam?" Dean asked as he muted the television. The younger man looked up from his yellow notepad and pulled a hand through his long hair, shifting the bangs back from his eyes. Dean sat up straighter in his chair, not wanting to seem awkward but achieving it accidentally in the action. "About what you said the other night...about, y'know..."

"What?" Sam questioned, creasing his brow slightly in confusion. He'd said a lot of things to his brother since 'the other night'. The specific night hadn't even been mentioned so he had no real idea. "What did I say?"

"About, y'know..." Dean cleared his throat and stood up, moving almost conspiratorially towards Sam and shifting some of the legal papers aside to slide next to him on the sofa. "About me and Cas." The older Winchester whispered and even looked over his shoulder, knowing fullwell Bobby wasn't even there to overhear but needing the reassurance.

For a second, Sam looked mildly lost but then his trail of thought swapped from lawyer to brother and a smile spread, easy and soft, across his features. "You don't have to act so worried, Dean, jeez. I'm not gonna rat on you."

"No but, y'see, that's just it. There's nothing going on to rat about." Dean made sure to keep his voice to a stage-whisper and his eyes widened marginally as he practically begged Sam to believe the words - even when he didn't believe them himself. "Him and me, we're just friends."

"Since when do you hug your friends, Dean? In fact, since when do you HAVE friends?" Putting down his pen, Sam moved the papers and notepad to the coffee table and turned to cross his overly long legs beneath him on the sofa. "Look, I'm not saying anything's going on between the pair of you-"

"Well good, 'cause it's not." Dean interrupted but knew Sam wanted to say more by the look on his face. Hanging his head low, out of his brother's eye line, Dean waited for the rest.

"I'm not saying there is but, if there was, hypothetically, then, I hope you know, you'd have my full support. Dean," Sam reached out and touched Dean's shoulder, giving it a light squeeze, demanding his attention - which was dutifully given. "You've looked out for me, taken care of me, given me encouragement in everything I've ever done, and now I figure I should return the favour in any way I can."

"Sam..." Dean started, but had to let the sentence die because of the rawness of that one word. He didn't do emotional or anything to do with feelings; not since John'd burned his shoes. "I'm not..."

"There is such a thing as a bi-sexual, Dean. It's pretty fluid for most people actually. I mean, I've never been attracted to guys but that's just me. Some people're attracted to both and some, to none. Some don't have a sexuality, some like people for who they are, regardless of their gender. Labelling yourself isn't necessary, not in my eyes anyway. You can like who you like. It's all fine. Besides, I don't think you're ever gonna score Anna." Sam chuckled and let his hand fall as Dean's gaze flickered up, eyes slightly narrowed in amusement.

"It's just weird. He's a cool guy but I don't know if I could see me and him, y'know..." Dean cleared his throat and looked away from his brother, scratching the back of his head as he shifted uncomfortably. "Besides, I'm not even sure he likes me at all anymore. Probably thinks I'm a massive asshole." 

"Why? What did you do?" Sam tilted his head, curious to know, his legal papers quite forgotten on the low table beside them.

"Something really stupid." Dean sighed and stood, moving to the kitchen and returning with two beers. It felt like it would be a conversation that would be easier with a little alcohol.

For hours, Dean explained everything that'd happened between them; from the first time he watched Cas dancing, to the way Cas' fingers had carded through his hair that night at Gabe's, to the way Dean felt when Cas pressed up behind him. Sam just listened patiently, knowing exactly when to nod and hum, and when to comment with something a little more. All the while, though, he couldn't believe quite how enraptured Dean seemed to be, how very alive he looked and sounded.

"And then, at Jess' party, I saw him dancing with some guy and it just got to me, y'know?" By this point, Dean was edgy on the dipping sofa and he tapped the side of his fourth bottle of beer. Sam pinched the bridge of his nose and sat forward from his slouch and lined up his empty in the line they'd made across the coffee table. "I mean, yeah, I can see why he did it but it just...I don't even know anymore."

"It's called jealousy, Dean. We all feel it. Heck, I know I have. Loads of times." Sam yawned as Dean turned his face towards him. Of course that's what it was. He was jealous of Cas dancing with someone else because there were feelings between them; feelings more than there should be. Taking a breath, Dean's eyes widened at the realisation and Sam's lips pulled up into a soft smile. "I'm sure if you just apologise, Cas'll understand. He's a pretty cool guy, from what I gathered at the party."

Standing, Sam gathered as many of the bottles into his arms as he could and made his way slowly towards the kitchen. Dean followed, still thinking.

"Besides," the younger Winchester bunched up the empties into one corner of the counter, knowing he'd take them out in the morning, and turned to Dean, leaning. "Who was the guy?"

Dean huffed in response, not really wanting to go into specifics. "He had blonde hair and he looked just Cas' type to be honest." He refused to meet the gaze he could feel on him but heard Sam slightly laugh.

"You mean Brady?"

"I don't know what his name was. All I know is I wanted to punch his smug little face." Dean scoffed, scratching at his arm even though it didn't itch.

"You might've regretted it. He was my roommate at Law School and he's one of my best friends..." Sam let the words lie before adding, "straight as a five dollar bill, I promise."

Dean's smile couldn't have been bigger if he'd won a lifetime's supply of apple pie.


End file.
